Fallout the world
by Dragonkingofthestars
Summary: In fallout we know what happened to America, what of the rest of the world?    What hazards do they suffer? what are there lives? now we find out.    one nation at at time.    beta read by Scarlet Rabbit
1. Japan

In fallout we know what happened to America, what of the rest of the world?

What hazards do they suffer? what are there lives? now we find out.

one nation at at time.

each chapter starts with a fallout style intro, and ends with inspiration for the chapter. feel free to post ideas for future locations to be considered and visited.

* * *

><p><em>War, war never changes.<em>

_Since the dawn of the bronze age, man has proceed to build better tools, better devices, and better weapons._

_In the land of the far east, Japan, such machines reached a level of sophistication and complexity, that had never been seen before or since._

_When atomic fire swept civilization into the ash been of history. Japan consumed it self. As the bombs fell and cities burned, man fell on man in hunger and rage. Fighting over the few resources left, clean water, food, shelter, spread among almost 120 million people. Until the only source of food, was each other._

_In one corner of the burning world a man, driven mad by lose and pain built a machine, some may say, they machine._

_A circuit designer by trade, a watch maker by passion, he formed from scraps of metal, brass and copper, steel and zinc, metals, the dying population had no interest in a mechanical computer, which thought._

_As the world burned the computers came to life, with the whirling of gears, the click of ratchets and the clink of rods. The man died of heart ache, when the machine that came to life, was not his long dead wife._

_While he died of a broken heart, the ember of humanity blew out in Japan. Driven by hunger, competition, radiation, man died out form the land of the rising sun._

_Acting alone the sentint machine of brass and copper sent re-purposed Karakuri and sent it out though the radioactive wastes. In a old car factory a AI of silicon and steel was found and the two began to forge a new race._

_Others AI were found, newer ones built and life began anew. In time the machines that had inherited the land of the rising sun would come to learn the lessons mankind first learned around a fire sharpening rocks into killing tools._

_lessons of pride, fear, irrationality, courage, pride, arrogance in time these would lead to conflict and war._

_And war, war never changes._

* * *

><p>Akane zoomed though the scope of the heavy rifle. The army of Daimyo Haru was before her. Massed ranks of twin legged Ashigaru, the thundering quadruped form of a few assault bots, but they were not the threat.<p>

The true threat were the small, sentient leaders that moved though out the camp. Akane scanned over the enemy army, the slight whine of servos and click of gears the only sound, each lost to the wind and the trees.

Daimyo Haru was encroaching on the old city of Kob. But Daimyo Hideyoshi had a claim to this mine. Haru claimed he did as well. It would not be long before the Empresses army came and restored peace at gun point. Still she had been given a mission to perform before then.

Suddenly, her rifle scanned across the form of a sentient machine. Like all such machines it was shaped like a man by decree of the Empress. Most of all it matched Haru combat chassis. A glaring demonic face mask, ablative armor made of hard plastic and steel cover in red cloth to mark his station.

It was him.

In her legs tension built, springs coiled, tensions rose. Until she lunched. From her tree vantage point she flew upward breaking branches soaring almost 50 feet till landing with a slight clatter of metal upon rock as she came down. Checking her rifle over it, and finding, yes it was fully functional she moved forward.

Catering over rocks, around trees she made her way to the camp. Small fleshys ran from her movement, among the last of biological life among the island of japan.

Soon she was at the edge of the camp. The bulked biped of a Ashigaru guarded this approach in the twilight. Even in the evening light the glint of the heavy machine gun with massive bayonet blade at the end was clear. The other arm clenched a massive bullet proof shield.

Akane could not frown, her face was a piece of mask like plastic but she would if she could. The Ashigaru stood on a prewar road that lead into the camp.

There! To the side! A ditch ran parallel to the road. A deep one. Rapidly winding up a flywheel inside her she quickly swung into the ditch from the cover of a bush in the along side.

With the groan of strained machinery the heavy Ashigaru fired a burst of 76 caliber bullets at the bush that had moved.

When nothing happened its simple AI assumed it was a animal and kept scanning.

She then waited.

In time, the twilight passed to night and she moved. Her movements now powered by the flywheel and springs she crawled along the bottom of the ditch. Silently, not even the whine of a electrical motor to give her away. The Ashigaru scanned the road to either side by failed to spot her in the ditch.

Half way though her the overly rough terrain over taxed her fly wheel and it ran out. Silently she tried to spin it back up. The slight electrical whine seemed to echo much loader then it really was to her.

Thankfully the Ashigaru did not hear her. Even though she could have easily touched it. Then a sort the sound of plastic feet on gravel came to her and the electrical motor died quickly.

She had no idea what it was. Perhaps a sentient unit was investigating the burst of gun fire?

Using her limited stock piled energy in her springs she shifted the gun, so it was under her. If any one looked they would see a fallen sentient AI dressed much like a free lancing Geisha with bullet holes in the chassis. Of coarse if they move to flip her over they would see the gun and she have to kill them.

For a long moment the sound of the AI investigating the Ashigaru till, satisfiable it walked off. In the silent that followed Akane quickly spun her fly wheel up and began to move again silently.

Once in the camp to either side she crawled out of the wet ditch, the silk camouflage clothing ruined, she peeled the soggen thing off reveling the Mountbatten pink plastic frame beneath.

Rapidly she stood and enter the camp. Staying to the shadows, dodging behind inactive Ashigaru, some times crawling atop them to dodge patrols of smaller Kani, or sentient machines.

She dropped right next to a tent that belonged to Daimyo Haru. Inside Haru was resting. As the study thrum of a Kerosene engine told her power was being drawn to recharge himself. The study talk of philosophy reached her 'ears' he was speaking with some one.

The light from inside told her that there were three of them. All would have to die. A flap of metal unfolded on her leg and a pair of post war type 100 stick grenades were removed.

Carefully, she cut a square in the tent and rapidly threw the grenades into the tent. They had just enough time to yell in surprise before the grenades exploded.

Still a heavy robust Daimyo frame? It would take more. Ripping into the tent she took aim at the reeling, fragment studded form of Haru.

The rifle was a post war build, and loaded with armor penetrating discarding sabot unsporting perhaps. But she was a assassin. Honor was not there way.

She fired on full auto, the heavy 50 caliber bullet from the sawed off rifle roared into and threw the Daimyo, springs in her arms absorbing all the recoil that would have broken a fleshys shoulder.

Rapidly walking up to the now bullet studded form she drew another grenade, this one coated in glue. With a quick jab the grenade was jabbed into his chest though a piece of armor plating that had peeled away in the fight.

Turning she studded the Geishas with rounds, there lighter civilian chassis shattering apart under the bullets as the grenade blew Haru apart.

Now the camp was awake and yelling. In truth Akane did not need to escape. She had a back up. Still she want to remember this.

With a quick electrical hum, she overclocked her systems and took off at a run. A sentient to her left found its head blown off, not a killing blow but given that's were all the sensors were may as well have been.

Search lights from Ashigaru swept the camp. With a quick flip of a hand the armor piercing bullet shifted for marker bullets that with almost casual grace impacted optics, blinding the heavy Ashigaru with poofs of powdered chalk.

The camp was chaos and Akane weaved between Ashigaru, jumped over Kani and out right destroyed sentience that cross her path.

On the far edge of the camp a pair of Ashigaru parameter guards turned to face her. Shields up, there machines gun projecting around them they sprayed into the camp.

Bullets kicking up dirt around her, her leg springs propelled her over the simple machines, each almost 15 feet tall. Landing behind them she sped into the night, a camp of chaos behind her. Then the shells began to fall.

In the camp of Daimyo Hideyoshi, she knelt before him as he received the report.

"Excellent." he said with a smile, for he was wealthy enough and inclined enough to go for a expensive face to do just that. A oddity in a sea of masks.

"With daimyo Haru dead.."

"You shall do nothing that you have not already sworn to." Akane said. "Remember what you swore before the Empress. You get the credit for Haru's death and you leave his former holdings to his successor Daimyo Chiyoko. You keep the mine, and the Empress favor." Hideyoshi nodded he knew well what he had done to get this Empress blessed Handmaiden assassin.

"Indeed." he stood up from his seat. "Do you wish escort to the capital?"

"I am a handmaiden." Akane said simply, her fresh silk clothing declaring that clearly. "I need none. At you're leave." Hideyoshi nodded and Akane stood up and left.

* * *

><p><em>Inspirations.<em>

_The main inspiration were two pieces of Keith Thompson art. His Karakuri drawing likely inspired the idea of robots taking over in Japan, indirectly as it planted the idea. The second work, Assault Doll was the inspiration for Akane, though a hint of star craft can likely be seen in the rifle and how she uses it._

_As for the 'clock work' empress I sort of had clock work on the brain after reading about Difference and analytical engines. and for the record the empress has cogs streched over a parking garrage and the mad inverter turned into a Ghoul mid way though and had lots of time._


	2. Hawaii

In fallout we know what happened to America, what of the rest of the world?

What hazards do they suffer? what are there lives? now we find out.

one nation at at time.

each chapter starts with a fallout style intro, and ends with inspiration for the chapter. feel free to post ideas for future locations to be considered and visited.

* * *

><p><em>War, war never changes.<em>

_The ocean, the vast realm of water, that links the world._

_For generations man has seen the oceans as a source of wealth, food, exploration, land, conquest. For generations the sea has been where man of adventure, daring and greed have looked to._

_Not even Armageddon could change that._

_In the far corner of the old united states the last remnant of the Enclave, harried both east and west, with nothing left, made to a last despite sanctuary, there last hope in a new world. The Island of Oahu Hawaii._

_There they found the remains of the great American fleet, many still salvageable and the three vaults in the great Island chain._

_There they formed there great America society dedicated to there vision of the old world guarded by the hulls of the great Enclave navy._

_But to support there new world order they needed wood, coal, oil, iron, copper, glass, the resources to power a new industry. they turned there eye East, to the great East Indies and there bountiful reserves of what they needed._

_To get them the Enclave would go to war._

_And War, war never changes._

* * *

><p>Log book:01<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 4th.

Point of Entry: Pearl Harbor-Oahu Hawaii-Cruiser:EBS Detroit.

Entry: It is traditional to start a unofficial log book when one receives his first command, and I shall fallow this tradition. Though I pray the FBI does not find this book, for here I shall put my most damning thoughts, out side of my government required logs.

For example, I know it would cost my position to admit it, but I dearly love the Detroit, I find her wood and steel hull to be more, elegant then the pre war vessels more favored officers have.

Although many news reels have recorded this class of ship to the smallest bolt. I still feel the need to put down the appearance of the ship in my own words.700 feet from nose to tip with a 60 foot beam she is a modest ship beside the Battle Ship Eden.

Her first 500 feet from the tip back is flat sprouting twin barreled rocket launchers, more on them latter, the last 200 feet is taken up by the bridge and the three smoke stacks that lead the smoke from the oil boilers away.

The end of the ship sports a pair of paddle wheels powered by the boilers. We have yet to make a good screw yet and all prewar screws are reserved for prewar ships. We are designed to burn oil, but in a pinch we can mange coal and wood. At max speed we move at 14 knots, nothing at compared to prewar speeds but compared to post war ships we are a predator.

The Detroit has a steel hull, but her decks are made of wood to save on steel and weight, I don't complain, ever inch of steel we lose is another rocket we can carry!

And what a rocket! 16 inches in diameter, a yard long, fueled by a smokeless powder propellent with a three pound payload of either high explosive, fragmenting, incendiary, or in a pinch we can stuff the cone with as many plasma grenades as we can.

The rocket has a range of almost 2500 feet and is guided and aimed with the short squat tubes of the launcher cannons tubes, they also impart spin onto the rocket thanks to there rifling. When a rocket is spent a new one is hand loaded into place saving more metal on tricky auto loaders. The whole two tube assemble sits in a wood and iron turret we can change the orientation of at will.

Simple, post war, effective. There call Foehammer's rockets and every thing I've heard, say they live up to there name. I can't wait to see what these things can do.

We also have shorter range Bane rockets that have reduced range, but a much heavier payload for close in engagements.

We also have,, eight machine guns per side, two of which are small 5mm gatling guns, and sitting on are rear is a single prewar 3 inch mortar to lunch star shells for night fighting illumination.

Tomorrow we make for Molokai for are shake down run, work the kinks out. I expect a weapon drill will be done, then I shall see what we can do!

* * *

><p>Log book:02<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 5th.

Point of Entry: Navy test zone- Hawaii-Cruiser:EBS Detroit.

Entry: Did I say see? The rockets back blast kicks up a nasty smoke cloud. After five volleys you can't even see your hand in front of you face. I pity those poor rocket boys who have to load and fire those things, the sound, smoke and weight of the rockets will drive a man deaf, blind and bad of back before his time.

Note: there may be called boys, but they are men, and strong ones in fact, don't get into a fight with them.

Having completed are shakedown run, we shall make to the East Indies to support Admiral Smith, he used to be vault 1's overseer and he threw himself at the Enclave with a will. That eagerness got him a command and a battle ship, Patriot. I've heard only good things about him. I look forward to meeting him.

* * *

><p>Log book:03<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 8th.

Point of Entry: Latitude, 8.882178, Longitude172.88085-Cruiser:EBS Detroit.

Entry: we have rondevued with three of Detroit's sister ships, the New York, Portland and Chicago they are escorting three merchant ships back to Hawaii loaded with supply's. Being more then half way back the Portland has been ordered to follow us back to fort Wrath. The convoy will be safe enough with one less ship.

* * *

><p>Log book:04<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 11th.

Point of Entry: Fort Wrath-Cruiser:EBS Detroit.

Entry: We are at Fort Wrath. The modest fleet of five cruisers was a welcoming sight after three days with nothing but the Portland for visual company. We shall stay for two days, just enough time to fill our bunkers with oil, our men with booze, and hull with rockets, then we off to the front. It been said the Pacific has more islands then a teenage has pimples. Many don't have proper prewar names. Time to help the Enclave take a few more from the primitives who hold these land.

* * *

><p>Log book:05<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 11th-12th .

Point of Entry: Fort Wrath-Cruiser:EBS Detroit.

Entry: I take back my primitive comment. Last night they lunched a surprise attack on the fort. Quick assembled Onagers lunched a attack of quick lime and smoke bombs into the fort. While men tried to get into power armor the damn tribal's manged to lob some high explosive into the shipping bay, damaging the Portland, Raleigh and the Houston badly. There talk there have to scrap her. Luckily we came though fine.

Log books say we expended almost, 600 rounds of machine gun ammo, I have to drill the men in fire discipline. I hope we did not hit any friendly's.

News over the wireless as I write this, Admiral Smith has push the date of the offensive up. I have just received my orders, Fire support. My job will be to support the beach landings on, Grenlith, as the locals call it, they can call it what they want, pre war maps say there sitting on a oil deposit so there.

Past experience shows they may be heavily dug in with pre war equipment despite there primitive habit of running around half naked, even the women can you believe it?

* * *

><p>Log book:06<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 12

Point of Entry: Cruiser:EBS Detroit, near the island of Hornlith.

Entry: Were still a half day away from Grenlith steaming with the Portland and Seattle. We shall meet up with a amphibious assault ship at Grenlith at 23:00 and shall start the battle at first light.

Today a number of 'friendly' natives approached us in a Dhow ship. I say friendly in quotes as I am unsure if they are related or knew something about the attack. Still the Destroyer that guards there home village radioed saying this tribe was truly blameless in the attack. Which is good.

The meeting was peaceful, they stared at us, we stared at them, till we past them.

The things I've seen back home in public theaters say that natives worship prewar technology, rifles, cannons that sort of thing and are ships are as close as that poor saps will come to there gods. I suppose that's what we must look like to them. Draped in prewar armor and sailing with out sails in prewar ships.

Still they resist us. Spend more time praying to there machines, then maintain them, still there prayers may be maintenance, so there's that.

* * *

><p>Log book:07<p>

Captain: Ronald Tailor.

Date: 2283: June 13

Point of Entry: Cruiser:EBS Detroit, just off shore of Grenlith

Entry: We won.

At 0900 the first wave of lander's made there way to the island, unfortunately like most island the soft sand of the beaches made power armor impossible to use, the troops would just sink in and flounder. After landing they began to move up the beach, looking for targets when the battle began.

From the hills among hidden bunkers, covered with jungle that covered almost the whole island prewar artillery, opened fire on the men on the beaches.

Seconds later Detroit, Portland and Seattle along with the assault lander prow mounted rocket turrets opened fire. We rained incendiary rockets on the jungle fortifications the smoke and heat lighting up the air and sending embers into the air in a rising plume. The ground forces quickly made there way up the beach over a smoke cloud there assault lander kicked up with there special smoke rockets.

At 1000 look outs in the crows nest spotted a fleet of some eight sail frigates supported by a five dozen war canoes come around the curve of the island. I am proud to say the Detroit was the first to rotate our launchers to the target and rained rockets on them.

The rockets impacted the wooden hulled ships and blew them apart. None of them got into range to use there prow catapults.

The canoes though were more of a problem. Each was 80 feet long powered by almost 80 men and had a fair bit of speed with a massive spar torpedo hanging off the front. The frigates drew are fire and kept us from shooting a them with are rockets.

I gave orders to break out are machine gun and prepare to repel boarders. Unfortunately we had the unenviable position of being closest to the incoming fleet, it why we saw them first so we would bear the brunt of attack.

Soon every man not at a machine gun lined the deck with a plasma gun or a laser rifle in hand and fired at the incoming fleets.

The water was soon filled with body's as the troops set to work fill the air with laser, plasma and machine gun bullets. Even now hours latter I can still hear the screams of those men who came at us, and the wounds a plasma gun inflects on a bear skin are better off unseen, and smelled, they reek like burned meat.

Still, they got close, at least one made impact and the spar torpedo detonated against the hull, we started to take on water though the gash in the hull, even now I can hear the pumps sucking power from are boilers and the lights flicker from lack of energy.

I believe I said I love the Detroit? I still do, but the San Francisco class of, which the Detroit is a proud member of, have only two boilers so we lack a lot of power then say the Phoenix class which has four boilers, but fewer launchers. Were built to sit off shore and blow land targets apart, there built to go seek out enemy surface ships.

Where was I?

After the impact I redirected the launchers to target a mass concentration of enemy boats, incendiary payload.

The Bane rockets payload is about 10 pounds of gasoline mixed with a thickening agent, post war napalm.

God! I thought the plasma guns were bad! The sound of a man being burned alive, the wood of his boat providing the fuel for a funeral pyre.

The sea was lit on fire, the effect of it was that the heavier wooden warships would not follow though the burning field, while we, with steel hulls could. The Portland and Seattle followed as putting more burning napalm into the water dealing with the canoes.

We then focused on the ships. Seems the enemy did not even expect the wooden hall ships to get close and had be counting on the canoes to get explosive charges into are hulls and they began to fall back and we let them. Returning our bombardment to the beaches, where our infantry were advancing. Shortly we had to stop firing for fear of hitting our own troops and that's where we are now.

By now the island should be ares and construction of a new boarder fort is planned. Then we can get to some Oil derricks up.

So the Enclave marches on, to victory for America.

* * *

><p><em>Inspirations.<em>

_This chapters does not have much in terms of out side inspiration, save one. The Destroyermen books series by Taylor Anderson. if i had not read those (very good) books then the idea for a sea based enclave may never have come to me._

_were i to continue this i would likely drop out of the logbook format. it was fun to write short term but i could not do a story about it.  
><em>


	3. Canada

_War, war never changes_

_9.9 million square kilometers, over five thousand Kilometers from coast to coast of wild untamed frozen land, over 98 kingdoms, autocracys, Oligarchy, democracys and theocracys. One police force._

_For hundreds of years, before and after the war, only one group patrols the vast wildness, a thin red line between order and chaos._

_The Canadian Mounted Police. Whose motto since 1920 has been Maintiens le droit, Defending the law. Not even the US government had been able to full disband them when they annexed Canada._

_When the bombs fell, the organization survived and re-purposed to try and to keep chaos in a new radioactive world, first by jeep, then when fuel ran out, by horse back as their ancestors did before._

_In time the half burned settlements turned into governments and city states, each in turn wanted the protection offered by the organization that had, if not kept the chaos of the bombs at bay, then kept it as minimal as possible._

_For over 360 years the rule of law has been kept in the north. A war waged between law and order._

_And war, war never changes._

* * *

><p>The town of Pine Peak was near to the major rivers fed by glacier water. Nearby great pine forests loomed silently.<p>

Every building was built on massive tree timbers and sat almost six meters off the ground, in case of a angry predator attacked, like now.

The build shook as the angry Snow stalker tried to climb the tree post, roaring and snarling as it did so. Mayor Mich looked down at the angry 780 Kilo gram, saber tooth, bear. Thankful the massive long house that held most of Pine peak population at the moment sat on enough trees posts to make sure even one Snow stalker would not bring it down.

"Any chance of us killing it before we die of old age? June asked with a American drawl. Mich glared at the female trapper, who he strongly suspected had started all this

"You try getting though all that Blubber and muscle. "

Unfortunately they lacked any sort of ammo that would bring it down. Already they had spent most of their .308 hunting rifle ammo on it and it was too close to the posts holding the building up for TNT.

"Ya." She said. Silence for a minute. "When the hell are those Mounties you called for getting here?" she gestured to the long copper wire that could carry simple Morse code messages all across the frontier.

"How should I know? The nearest station less than two days away, so any time today. Mich said sharply back. Then from the look post stretching above the house the lookout yelled down.

"I see some red! A single Mountie on a white horse!"

"One Mountie!" June said. "Against that thing." She pointed at the snow stalker keeping them in the building and not working on tanning Shagrant hides. The Stalker seemed to know they were talking about it and lunged at them again. Luckily stalkers may be strong, but not strong enough to lift their own bulk all that high off the ground.

Mich slid open his own telescope and watched the Mountie approach.

As he approached he began to load his lever rifle thumbing rounds into the gun. Guiding his horse with his knees he took aim with his rifle and fired into the Snow Stalker.

The rounds only pissed it off.

Roaring it turned and charged toward the single horsemen. Pivoting his horse round he galloped away from it.

"Hes leaving?" June said with a hiss. Then the Mountie began to turn the Stalker chasing after him, so he was now going in a broad circle.

"No, hes tiring it out!" Mich said as he watched the Mountie strafe around the stalker in the plain outside of Pine Peak. After a few seconds the Stalker stopped and roared at the Mountie, who simple fired into its massive body again opening new small bloody holes in it.

With another roar the Snow Stalker charged after him and again he led it on a chase the after a half minute had the Stalker panting deeply.

The Mountie leading his horse with his knees fired a few more times into it. The Stalker gave a half assed attempted to chase it, but gave up, too tired. It just about foaming at the mouth it was so tired.

Sliding his rifle into a pouch on his saddle the Mountie drew a lance and kneed his horse forward charging the Stalker flank.

With a roar it spun to face him, and he peeled away from it, the Stalker tried to chase, but it was tired and stopped again panting heavily. Wheeling around again the Mountie charged again. This time he impacted.

The heavy spear went deep into its hips, the charging horse overcoming who knows how much blubber and muscle, simple wood and muscle doing what bullets could not.

Roaring, the now hurt, bleeding Stalker charged after him, its short legs no match for the longer horses and it rapidly fell behind and stopped tired and overheated. The Mountie spun to a fact the bear and his horse carefully walked up to it.

Once he was three meters away he got off the horse and drew a small one handed woodsmen axe/mining pick as he approached the now just about passed out stalker.

It made a half hearten lunged at him and he backed away and when it landed he took a half step forward and planted the pick end in its head with a spurt of blood and brains, yet somehow not getting a drop on his uniform.

Mich cheered, and was surprised when the cheer was taken up by others, who had watched the single Mountie kill a beast that traders from the distant US called, a match for any 'death claw'

Saddling back up the Mountie rode to the long house. Mich turned to people behind him "get some ladders down quick!" dutifully some rope ladders were run out and the people slid down them. Mich was the first on the ground and met the Mountie on horseback.

"Thank you constable for you quick reply! I dare say that thing would have tied us up for weeks in that's place. He tipped his hat to Mich.

"Just doing my duty mayor. Though I wonder, why the Stalker was so mad at you in the first place? They are north migrating this time of the season and have no time to attack a community. Especially a female." He looked thoughtful "Did a member of you community kill her pup?"

Mich sighed. "I assume so." He glared and June who was right beside him looking as arrogant as ever. "June here came with such a pelt, but claimed to have gotten it over in Wreckage."

"Only the pelt?" the Mountie said and Mich nodded. The Mountie cast a glance at the flag flying from the long house, the intertwined hawks on a blue field. The banner of the Monarchy of Southern Columbia.

"Yes, once more she claims to be a national from the far south, a place called the NCR and has no knowledge of the rules of the Monarchy. So frankly I am unsure what to do with her."

"The law is clear." The Mountie said at last, still sitting on his white horse. "One account of Poaching," it was illegal to kill young Snow Stalkers for this reason, Mothers were stubborn and revengeful, "one account of wasting a carcass," a bit of legislation some tribal's had gotten though parliament. "And one account of illegal immigration."

"WHAT!" June said with a hiss.

"I don't make the laws." The Mountie shrugged "though they will likely drop the immigration charge." Then spoke louder.

"Any witness to her bringing the pelt in?"

"She tried to sell it to me." A merchant said. Another voice chimed in "I was there." the Mountie drew papers from a tube on his belt and stuck them to a clip board and handed them out among the crowd.

"Would you please write down the events as they patrain to the incident you question? If you are unable to write I can help you." he repeated him self in french.

"We got this." The merchant said and took a pen to the paper the other man hanging nearby.

The Mountie slid of the horse and drew a pair of handcuffs from his belt and approached June

"In the name of the Canadian Mounted Police, operating under the legal laws of the Monarchy of Southern Columbia," the now panicked trapper lashed out trying to punch him square in the jaw, he ducked under the punch, that only served to knock his hat off and revel his unruly mop of blond hair.

Coming back up he slammed the palms of his wrist hard into her left ear, driving trapped air into the ear popping the ear drop, a highly painful and not lethal move. Reeling, another impact to her shoulder sent her down and he rapidly pressed his knee into her back as he applied the handcuffs.

"You are under arrest." he finished and stood her back up and worked her onto her horse, and he soon was behind her for a joint ride back to station.

"Have you completed the affidavits?" seeing the nods. "Good pass them around, I need two additional signatures, to prove they were not coerced." after a few more passes he got the two signed Affidavits.

"Very good."

"Will you be off so soon mister?" Mich said

"Dudley." The now named Mountie said. "And yes I am afraid so."

"Very well then." Mich extended his hand and the Mountie took it. "Again thank you."

"Again, just doing my duty." He worked his horse around back down the path he arrived by.

"Farewell." he said and began the trip back to the Mountie station.

* * *

><p><em>Inspirations<em>

_not many for here. maybe i could point to cracked 6 organizations that you did not know were secretly bad ass for the idea Mounites kick ass. if i were to continue this I would post the adventrues of being a MOuntie and upholding the law in a post apoolcpit wilderness._

_A last note regarding the critters: yes i shamelessly ripped of the Future is wild for Shagrant and snow talkers. I've done it before and will do it again, if radiation can make death claws it can make any critters there much quicker. then millions of years._


	4. Poland

_War, war never changes._

_Since the beginnings of organized war countless army trampled the sullen fields of Europe._

_In world war three, the Russians went West, in World War Two, the Germans went East, in World War One the Russians went West, in the Napoleonic wars, the French went West, in the 30 year war Germany warred it self to near extinction, Swedes went South, Mongols East, vikings South, Ottomans West, Romans everywhere, war never changes._

_In 2077 what was to be the last war, merely propelled the survivors into a new age of war and blood. Out of the ash and fire the remnants of a born again system reemerged._

_In tall castles, some pre industrial age, nobles rule over the land, lording over peasants beneath them, knights once more walk the land, in iron cars, or beasts of flesh, or for some abhorrent combinations of both._

_In the shadows of man made peaks, people work, farming, working, trading, training, and prepare to defend themselves._

_From the north the shadow of men who have fallen back on the old way of war and violence looms, and once more crys echo from the peasants, save us from the wrath of the Norse men._

_To the south the expansionists army of the Ottomans push north to the gates Vienna, seeking Europe's treasures._

_In the East the Germans gather there arm's and jealous prince ready to receive the Ottomans, and take new lands for there own._

_To the West, the specter of the last echo of the old Russian army of World War three looms. Behind old walls of rusting barbed wire, and machine guns the Cossacks wait and watch for there old nation to return them to glory._

_In the middle, sits the leaderless land of Poland Lithuanian sits, between the hungry powers, with only jealous greedy princes to defend her, each seeking each others land with there army's rather then defend there nation._

_It is a time of total war._

_And war, war never changes._

* * *

><p>A Meliachicken Rooster crowed nearby waking the nineteen year old inside.<p>

Fairly small, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, Radek awoke. Yawning widely, he quick stood up from the pre war mattress, his family had been lucky enough to find. He looked around the small room and found the clothes he set out the night before and got dress quickly sliding on a pair of well made boots and gloves last, or rather one glove his left had been torn apart by a angry hog.

Lastly he slid on a gun belt with a simple flintlock in the holster.

Opening the door he entered his homes main room his mother looked up with a smile at him. "Morning Radek." she said and handed him a bowl of potato soup to him.

"Thanks mom." he said and he ate quickly. Today they were going to town! As his little sister kept reminding them all last night.

Right on cue the little ball of energy bounced into the room. "Brother! Were going to town today!" his sister Aušra jumped in his lap and he chuckled. "Yes we are." And tossed her blond hair. "Maybe we can find you a new glove brother!" She said again.

"All things willing." he said with a smile. "Though I much rather get a rifle for some real hunting." he looked longingly at his mother who sighed, "Rifles are expensive dear, especially prewar ones." at least for farmers was the unspoken comment.

"Screw prewar, I'll take a muzzle loader, hell even a cross bow would work." he said.

"We will see dear." mother said. "Dear could you get the cart ready, I'll be with you shortly." Radek nodded and finished his soup up and left quickly.

Out side he saw Sczesny working on the fairly decent potato patch.

"Morning Sczesny." Radek said with a smile. "How goes the frost potatoes?" the former slave looked up with a smile on his face.

"Quite well young master, I expect this crop to be ready in five weeks, assuming we get a decent snow fall." unlike most crops Frost Potatoes grew during the winter months using the cold to ward off parasitic insects and they needed a nice snow cover to really start to grow.

"Sczesny how many times must I say it, don't call me master anything." Radek said.

"Ninety two at last count this week. But if it were not for your family, I would still be with those slavers so more then a little respect is called for." Radek shock his head.

"Were going into town today Sczensy mind helping me load the cart and hook up Bossy?"

"Sure thing young sir." he dropped the ho and met up with Radek as they went to hook up the horse in question to the cart and load it with a few things they could sell, hides, eggs, more then a few spare Meliachicken.

The bloody four legged things were barely worth the trouble, it took to get them in a box in Radek's opinion. But it was his alone since people bought the bastards. Still he got a little to much joy out of slaughtering them for a meal on occasion.

He handed the last box up to Sczensy "Right, that's the last of them." He stretched up and felt his back crack.

"You know you've been doing alright young sir." Sczensy said as he got off the cart. Radek scoffed.

"It's farming, it ain't hard to screw up." Sczensy chuckled.

"True but..." he stopped talking instantly, he knew that Radek and Aušra was a forbidden subject with Radek at least.

"Lets let your mother know were ready." he said patting the side of horse hooked to the cart. Flakes of dead skin coming off, when he patted the radiation mutated equine.

"Radek?" Sczensy asked at last.

"Do you ever get the urge to leave? To explore?" Radek glared at the blunted reference to his father before answering the question.

"Sometimes, but then I look in Aušra face, and change my mind."

SHIFT

The cart drew up to the wooden palisade and passed though the entrance. Radek's mother handed a dozen coppers to Radek "Get a new glove and come right back, and don't spend any more then you need."

"Yes mom." Radek rolled his eyes in good humor.

"I mean it." she said sternly "Last time I gave you spare money you spent half of it on ribbons." Radek scoffed. "You try saying no to Aušra." but he did not press the point. He did tend to get a bit spendy.

"Speaking of which, Aušra stay close to your brother."

"Yes mom." she said diligently.

"Right, off you two go. And say hi to you friend Adelaide for me, don't give that look I know your going to see her." Radek smiled and leaped off the cart, Aušra clenching his shoulders as he did so and he put her down on the crowded streets and the two pressed on to the market district.

SHIFT

Dark forms loomed and weapons were set, this speck of a town had something they wanted and they would take it.

SHIFT

Radek tossed a crusty oven mitt aside it was impossible to find a glove that would fit him. "Find anything Aušra?"

"No brother." She said. He picked up the note of shame. "Have you been looking?"

"No brother." She said again, her head poking out from behind the scavengers cart, a small cat rubbing up her leg. "Can we keep him?" she said excitedly.

"Actually, yes a mouser is all always welcome. Does he have a collar?" she her head shock violently, her blond curls flying back and forth. "Then yes." She squealed and hugged the small cat again, the animal mewed slightly, clearly thinking that no treats were worth this. Radek smiled and went thumbing for left gloves again.

"You have anything that's not junk?" he asked the scavenger who shrugged.

"Thanks." Radek said and pushed aside another oven mitt, and found, it.

It the strangest glove he had ever seen. It had a small screen on it with a number of buttons and the dial on the back on the hand. Curious he slipped it on. It was not unconformable idly he saw a power switch. Could the thing work?

He flipped it.

The glove tightened around his hand and with a yelp, he tried to pull it off, to no effect.

"How the.. Whats that thing doing there?" The Scavenger asked. Noticing Radek new addition. He ran over quick and looked at it.

"Can you get it off!" Radek said, luckily Aušra was still content with her cat and did not notice her brothers plight.

"No, your stuck with it." the scavenger said and thumbed a few of his many pockets and drew a piece of paper out of it. "This here the instruction guide for, quote: "Pipboy model 2500A European market variant." It says here it included a biometric lock and only those with administer privileges with in the systems can remove it. And unfortunately the user currently does not that privilege. I suppose its to keep kids from taking it off." He shrugged.

"In short, the only way to get it off is to cut it off."

"Where you find this thing?" Radek asked.

"Found it on a dead guy on the side of the road, " he shrugged again. "Searching him got me the manual. Here you have it. Reading it told me about the biometric lock." he gave it to Radek

"Thanks." He said dryly then he eyed the, pipboy.

"So what is it?"

"Not 100% sure. I think its some kind of hand held computer, with some sort of diagnostic feature, but that's about it."

"Lot of good that does a farmer." Radek said. He had never even seen a computer.

"Agreed." the scavenger said "But what the hell was it doing in that pile? I must gotten it wrong." he said. "Umm you can keep that. I really don't want to get in legal issues for that kind of thing unwilling latching to some one."

"Thanks." Radek said dryly.

The scavenger shrugged and back up slowly.

"You got a glove brother?" Aušra said.

"Oh I got it and then some." he said bitterly and walked off. The way this day was going he need cheering up.

SHIFT

The forms waited, the ways in and out would soon be covered, and then they would begin.

SHIFT

Radek knocked at the door and Adelaide opened it. The red head smiled at them and eyed Aušra new kitten.

"Hello Aušra, I see you have a new friend, does he have a name?" She knelt down to meet Aušra at eye level. She shock her head sending curls flying.

"Well lets fix that, come in Radek! It has been a while!" Radek nodded and entered the house. Aušra wandered over to the kitchen to get her new friend something to eat.

"So Radek, what have you been up to?"

"Farming." he shrugged. "Its hard work, now that we got those Frost potatoes, thanks to you." Adelaide nodded, her father was a merchant.

"I wish you could come by more often." she said and Radek nodded. "I agree. Still I'm always needed at the farm." silence echoed for moment.

"Come on, lets go name Aušra new friend." Adelaide said and the two walked into the Kitchen.

SHIFT

The squads were ready they now awaited orders. They would come quick enough.

And they got them.

SHIFT

Sassy, as the bold red tabby cat was named was playing with a string on the floor as Aušra led it around the room.

"Cute kitten." Adelaide said.

"Who the human or the cat?" Radek said chuckling and reached for one of the slices of food Adelaide had set out. Though she had warned she thought they were radioactive.

"That's one odd glove." she commented as she saw his left hand.

"Your telling me." Radek said "Turns out it's some prewar piece of crap and its stuck to my wrist, until I die." Adelaide was about to say something when his pipboy crackled and Radek arm pulled back like it had been on fire.

"What was that?" he said carefully.

"That was a Geiger counter." Adelaide said helpfully. More carefully, he put the pipboy up to the food and it cracked lightly. Looking at the screen he saw a complete read out on the food, it was slightly radioactive.

"This thing can detect radiation?" Adelaide said excited.

Radek was just as impressed. This thing had just made being on his arm worth it.

Then the air began to whistle.

"What is that?" Adelaide said before the air rocked to high explosive rounds. The screams began and already the stench of burnt flesh began to come up, slight but there.

"Brother?" Aušra asked worried as more explosions cut though the air.

"My god Landsknechts? Here?" Adelaide said and rapidly moved into the living room.

"I need to find my mom," Radek said then grabbed Aušra by her wrist and pulled her into the living room. Only to stop when Adelaide came back with a pair of weapons, a sword in one hand and a post war bolt action. They were both likely destined to some nobles bastard somewhere.

"I had to raid my fathers stock for these things, which do you prefer?"

"The rifle." she tossed it to him along with a couple clips of ammo.

"Adelaide, take care of Aušra." She nodded.

"Brother?" she said curiously. He turned to her. "Aušra, this is important," another explosion echoed nearby, "I need to find mom and I need you to stay with Adelaide do you under stand?" when Aušra did not respond right away he said more forcefully, "Aušra this is important, you have to stay with Adelaide."

"Yes brother." Another explosion cut out.

"I'll be back when I find mother."

"Where do we meet if we split up?" Adelaide asked?

"Do you know where our farm is Adelaide?" she nodded. "We can meet up there in three days if you have to leave the city." she nodded.

Radek opened the door and looked back at his sister and best friend. "God speed." he said at last in the prominent moment and left the door.

The streets were empty save the occasional running person trying to get to a shelter.

Poking his head around a corner at the end he saw the first Landsknechts, and his blood ran cold.

The small squad had five members, four were dressed like Landsknechts and were armed with pre war assault rifles. The problem was the squad leader. He wore some kind of full armor and clenched a boxy weapon of some kind along with a great sword on his back, but no helmet.

The armored one lowered his boxy pistol at a person cowering on the ground and fired. A red beam stabbed into him and he disintegrated into ash. He then turned a glare at Radek and fired.

The red beam sliced around the corner and Radek barely dodged it.

He stuck back around the corner took aim and,,

His wrist! It burned! Energy flowed though his nerves and everything seemed to stand still, giving him all the time in the world to aim. He was confused, but he took it!

The rifle roared, he quickly worked the bolt and the mans face exploded and he collapsed in on it self. He got a second shot off, one that impact one of the mercenary's legs before the slow time wore off.

Bullets whizzed and roared over head the air was filled with sharp cracks. Radek ducked back after a few more shots and panted, he had never killed any one before! Now a group of guys were trying to kill him!

He took some calming breaths and poked out to fire again, only to all but one of them, and him very confused, dead.

Radek took aim and the man got a bullet in the chest. Quickly he walked over and looked at the now dead man. A man he had killed.

The roar of a machine gun and the screams of people drew his attention , now as not the time to be introspective!

Quick as a flash he grabbed the dead mans weapon, and started stuffing ammo clips in every pocket he had. After he had enough he moved down a side ally.

The screams got louder and he ducked into a building. He was trying to get to the market district and this was the quickest way. Moving up stairs he planed to go over the roofs. Opening a door to a bedroom, another Landsknecht was in the window, holding a long rifle with a scope on top shooting out.

From the corner of his eye he saw the intruder and turned to shoot him. Before he could turn Redak sprayed him with the Assault rifle, never having had a full auto weapon before it spray out of control and the man stumbled out the back, blood pooling on the floor.

Redak panted and looked out the window, and froze.

The street was chocked with body's, moaning in pain. Any time there was movement, it was ruthlessly machine gunned into silence. Suddenly another crowed enter, were funneled! Into the kill zone.

From behind some upturned carts, machine guns roared and the crowd was sliced apart, no survivors and the screams as they entered the slaughter!

Redak was almost physically sick, when suddenly a impact to the back of head drove him down.

A pair of boots filled his vision and the man spoke to some one else in the room.

"Take him to the captain he has it." he picked up he left hand to show his friend the thing on it, then he passed out.

He woke up much latter. Opening his eyes he saw the night sky.

"You awake?" a voice said and he looked up to see a women with almost olive skin. She was dressed in some sort of thick leather armor with large combat boots, a assault rifle slung over her back, with some blocky thing on the end of it. Her hair was short, cropped from what little poked out from under her leather helmet and her belt practicably rattled with the number of knives in every loop of leather.

"Ya." Radek said looking around. He was in a some sort of camp near the main road. A fire burned in the center and he was currently in a sleeping bag. At some point while he had been out it had snowed and a white coating covered everything. He rubbed his head as he tried to ward off his pounding head ache.

"Drink this." she handed him a shot glass filled with some green fluid.

"This is going to taste bad right?" he asked and the girl chuckled.

"Even a fool can add sugar to the foul." he nodded and drunk it down quick, it was HORRID! And he just about chocked it back up as he shot the girl a poison look.

"Sugar does not automatic mean it taste good." she shrugged.

"You screwed the recipe up?" Radek said and she frowned. "That is possible."

"So what happened?" Radek asked.

"Two of them got behind you and knocked you out.. Frankly I am unimpressed, after I dealt with that squad for you, I thought you do a little better."

"Wait! My mom! Aušra! Adelaide!" Radek said and stood up quickly. "How long have I been out!"

The girl passed him a large back pack filled with supply's. "Two days we are not far from you home in fact, but..." Now that Radek had his bearings, and knowing he was not far from home he took off like a shot to his home leaving the girl and her cooking behind.

Though branches, over pits, down slopes up inclines he made his way though the night and when he was on the main road he spun to a face his home, only to see a charred building.

Almost numb he walked over to the building were Aušra and Adelaide here at least?

"Aušra! Adelaide!" he cried as he approached the building he got his answer as soon as he enter the yard, one of them was there.

A lump under the snow, roughly human shaped and he rapidly ,tripping on his own feet ran beside it and brushed the snow form its face. "Adelaide." he said sadly, her face scrunched up in a expression of terror, pain, fear, frozen by death.

"It would perhaps be best," he turned to face the girl who had saved him "if you did not brush the rest of the snow off." she looked sadly at the still body. "some things are better left not known."

He nodded numbly. "Who did this?"

"They call themselves: The Remnant. The last echo of some prewar army who do not have the sense to know when there time has passed."

"Why?" he said sadly in the gathering cold.

"A excellent question." she said and Radek turned to her.

"Who are you? Why did you save me?"

"Me? Jasna. I did so at the behest of my ruler, the one who lords with, not over, the wild places of this world." she tossed him a small Iron ball. Perfectly smooth and reflective it shown in the early morning light.

"Baba Yaga." Radek looked up suddenly.

"Impossible! Shes...shes...a myth!"

"Before the war? Maybe. But look around." she waved her hand around lightly taking in the whole planet. "The bombs changed everything. The rules are different. Is she the same Baba Yaga as before? The one of myth? Or merely a wise women who took up her mantle? I do not known nor care. Her goals are noble and I follow her for them."

Radek looked at the ball again before Jasna spoke again. "Your sister is still alive I saw them take her away before they, had they way with you're friend. And I suspect your mother as well."

"What? Were?" Radek said and Jasna shock her head slowly. "I know not."

"Like hell you don't!" Radek yanked the cheap peasant flintlock from his belt and the took aim. She lashed out. The heavy steel toe boat bashing him between the legs and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell over.

She knelt down and pressed her knee into his groin, as a knife in one hand pressed into his chest,the other hand held a pistol to his chin.

"Seek out Baba Yaga, she will either aid you and help you find your sister and mother, or kill you, and if you act like that in her presence? She will kill you. Her home is easily found, just fallow the story's." Jasna stood up leaving Redak on the ground, tossing a back pack beside him.

"Your story's just begun. Write it as you will." she turned and walked into the dawn, the sun rising slowly leaving one confused boy, body's to be buried, and the start of a new future.

* * *

><p>Inspiration:<br>_This chapter changed a great deal from start to finish but I am quite fond of the end result. this one has a lot of potential for a full fledged story behind it, if any one feels like having a good just let me know first then we can co op on if ya want._

_Clearly i used the total war tagline, but other then that not a lot of inspiration for this chapter._


	5. Paris

_War, war never changes._

_It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change. In 1859 Charles Darwin wrote those prophetic words within the pages of the Origin of Species. Were he only to know what forms the most intelligent of species would take to survive._

_The end of the world came swifter then any man had any right to expect and when it came the people of Paris fled the only way they could, down into the catacombs._

_Thousand of miles of tunnels, thousands of people trying to survive. At first they fed on food they brought with them, but in a short time the only food was each other._

_Wither by the hand of each other, plague or radiation leaking from above the people died by the thousands until only a few hundred were left. But they had survived._

_Yet even in their tombs of stone, they could not escape the falling poison from above. In the tunnels man changed, and became something new._

_There grew pale, hair less, strong wiry yet compact, their eyes grew large and sensitive to light, the better live in the tunnels and there culture evolved, adapted to change._

_All who die, are consumed to feed the young, that which cannot be fed, is left to rot allowing glowing fungus to grow for them to feed on, and to feed to giant rats the only live stock they keep._

_Paris burned and was poisoned by radiation, but the new race survived and thrived within the city, were no man could go. But food, as always was scarce so the survivors tunneled east, west and south finding humans once more._

_Though the people of the under dark came to trade items scavenged in the city for food, they were feared and loathed for there appearance and apatite._

_And when the trade is lean, and food scarce, they raid and war for what they need to subside in the tunnels that are there home._

_And war, War never changes._

* * *

><p>The chamber was filled with the warriors of the clan. Adamantly there were only 34 of them, less if you count those to old, sick or injured for the hunt. But age does not mean weakness of mind. And when an old hunter spoke, every one listened.<p>

Eugene squatted next to such a hunter and waited for the Eldest hunter to arrive. The clan leaders had declare it was a season for raiding, as was expect food was scarce and if they wished to have their younglings live though the coming frost, when food would be scarcer then normal, and animals non existed as they shied away from the dead poisoned city.

Only traders came, and only traders had food.

And some times, only traders were the food.

It was then the Eldest hunter arrived. The small crowd parted and he entered the chamber, working though the crowd, until he stood on the platform before them.

It was time to choose.

The Eldest raised his staff and placed it on the wall behind him. The wall, a represent map of the area around Paris, was studded with the major trading settlements in the area.

The staff was placed on the settlement of Raindelt, the Eldest other hand pointed, in to each hunter present. Most were silent, when called though, one spoke.

"I was part of the trade group to Raindelt, the traders there did not judge us for are looks, they were careful and formal, but they were not cruel or price gorged us." Nods went around the room. In all likely hood the raid would not fall on Raindelt only those that the blow deserved to land on, would find it land on them.

The Eldest nodded and after going though the room, let each man speak his turn, shifted his staff to another trader town, a new arrival from far eastern Europe, a Roma's trade caravan.

The Eldest waved his hand and again pointed in turn to each hunter in turn. This time he made to the third person before a meaningful comment was said.

"A child, a little thing not much more then eight saw how thin I was, and in a show of kindness gave me the sandwich he had been eating." Nods went around the room and little sounds of appreciation.

To a culture, neigh an entire civilization, if they could be said to have one, built atop surviving the ever pressing specter of starvation, to share one food was to make you clan born. The Roma's would definite not be raided this season.

Town after town, camp after camp, each in turn was evaluated, One by one the Eldest waved his hand though the room, each man, although some surfaces would dispute those he pale things were men, spoke his peace and each deed, good and bad by the people the warriors had met in that town was spoke, evaluated and judged.

More than one town will never know how close it came to burning, saved only by a friendly smile, a choice word of kindness, and more than one damned, by a single stingy trader.

Finally, after hours of debate, they reached their decision.

The Granite camp. They had come only to trade with the other groups, and had actually shot at them when there group had come to trade.

Once more story's over heard from other camp told them that within Granite slave holding was common. The blow would fall upon them.

The Eldest hunter nodded and spoke for the first time since the somber event had begun.

"Brothers, sons, fathers, hunters one and all. We know why we hunt, we have little left and we must to live, to survive. But let us remember the goal of the clan of Notre." He paused as their history came back to them. They alone squatted under the solid stone of the great cathedral that had survived the bombs, and they alone kept it safe and they alone filled with the treasures they would not touch, in an act of atonement for their sins.

"We seek to leave this hellish place, we seek to go north to the land where we can live as men should." He looked around. "Now we go to battle again, now we hunt, but remember why we do so and remember the fate are survival hath wrought us."

Alone among the people of the under dark, clan Notre was repentant. They knew their way of life was wrong, and they knew it must be done, what else was there to eat?

* * *

><p>Inspiration:<p>

_Not many, though a great deal of HG wells time machien can be seen as the 'under dark' are definitely morloks by any other name. I wanted to make a very gray society, they clearly do wrong, but they know it and wish to change hence the great journey to the north, but in the mean time they do what they must to live.  
><em>


	6. England

_War, war never changes._

_When the end came, the ancestors of the royal family of the lands now know as of Albion were not in their homes, but paying homage to events of the past in Scotland._

_Their they acted out the past; little knowing it was to be their present._

_Atomic fire swept their lands, burned their homes and trapped them north in the valley of Pennsic. Their they formed a new life and a new world._

_When the flames died down two generation latter they stayed, but when raiders came and were beaten back, they went South not curious about what had happened to their ancestors homes?_

_Town, after town was found, and many joined the only functional government left after the atomic war, never mind its origins, it was a working system with laws and the means to defend themselves._

_But even as the country reunited itself others began to emerged._

_Some said they had mutated from apes from zoos, others that they were there all along, watching from shadows and the bombs drew them out, whatever the case when the kingdom of Pennsic went south it met beings called Fae._

_The people were then stuck with a choice, either wipe out these beings, or treat them as equals. In a show of will power, and proving once and for all that war may never change, but humans can and they accepted them as equals._

_For 200 years the nation has grown slowly, as such things must and the island has for the most part recovered from atomic war._

_Yet some still seeked to tear down this monument to civilization and humanity. To the West, drums beat, guns are loaded, swords are hammered into form and great ships carved from wood. To the East, the Vikings have heard of fair land, food, riches, loot, slaves, and a peaceful population and go to war._

_And war, war never changes._

* * *

><p>The village of Jensen was close to the sea. You could hear the sound of the waves from the nearby farms. It was ringed with a palisade and at night, like now, search lights from a three guard towers flared across the water as guards searched for any Norse men who wished to approach.<p>

On the edge of the small community, just outside the walls in fact, A single school teacher was working on some papers in the silence of his home.

He could best be described, he would say derided, as a small man young man who was not the best man to fight beside in a shield wall due to his said size. Add to that his ink stained fingers and wide eyes and the image of the man who ran a kingdom, who put the numbers together and came out with the right figures, if not the man who held the thing together in a crunch, was the final impression.

He sighed and pushed the ink pot away and rubbed his fingers. "We can build cannon that can shoot a one pound rifle shell almost 500 meters and yet we still can't make a decent pencil." He stretched and stood up.

Sighing he checked his belt, city law said everyone had to have a weapon on them and he had been called out on it once too many times to have that fine bite him. Certainly a revolve may not be the most favored viewed weapons a man could use, but it counted.

And in a moment of vanity he could admit to himself he was not a half bad shot.

Suddenly there was a knock on the school room door and he froze in surprise, checking his Webley revolver and finding it, yes still loaded.

With that he walked to the door and looked though the peep hole in the door.

At the door of his school were a pair of Gremlins.

The two of them were fairly typical for there race. short, barely 75 centigrams tall, light only 90 kilograms, and densely packed muscles.

A common mistake was the origin of there name. They may have first have been found in a factory but they were no more technological inclined then any one else. They had long ears that were very sensitive to sound. Gremlins were naturally covered in fur that could be any shade from black to white. They also had very large yellow eyes though other colors were common. They also had a slightly less pronounced snout then one might expect, though it was still properly called a muzzle and the less said about how your wore pants with a tail the better.

Two words: Drafty and Kilt.

Once more the teacher recognized these two. He opened the door. "Feldin, Jhonson? What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?" He opened the door.

"Call it nerves." Feldin said "can we come in, Mister Gilbert?" he nodded and the now dubbed teacher let them in.

"I think I still have an old wine some were, pre war." he said with a smile and it had to be said that a properly stored wine that had spent over 200 years fermenting, heaven.

"Save it." Feldin said with a chuckle. "I can just feel, something," he tail lashed back and forth in a nervous fit. "The last time I felt like this, a pack of Wargs took out half our herd." Wargs were mutated boars and powerful pack hunters. Bullets had little effect as they just ignored them long enough to gore you, start eating and then die of lead poisoning in a week. The only way to bring one down fast was either a large caliber round to the skull, or use arrows to make them bleed out faster than a bullet could.

Gilbert sat down in one of his students chairs and leaned back on two legs like he always told them not to. "So you come to see me? I'm not Gaston."

Jhonson scoffed and jumped onto a table. "Gaston a dirty bigot. He shoots anything with hair on it." Gilbert nodded. "So why did you come to see me?"

"We were going into town when we saw the light thought we stop by."

Gilbert nodded. "I was just leaving for the night." Feldin blinked in agreement, a common facial expression among the very large eyed Gremlins.

"We will join you if you don't mind." Feldin said, Jhonson just nodded. Another thing about Gremlins that was often forgotten was they were much more group oriented then humans were and tended to be, more pack like if you wished to use a animal term.

"Fine by me." He stood up and the three left the building, Gilbert locking the door behind him.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

Off shore a trifecta of long boats made their way steadily forward, oars rising and falling pushing the boats forward as they have for countless years before. Each boat was filled with grim faced raiders, pillagers and pirates.

On one boat, men clenched rifles and weapons of a new age. The others were more tradition and the axes, swords and spears they had would not be out of place in a prewar museum or a pre industrial age.

The lead long boat, the one who gripped guns watched the shore line loom closer. Three guard towers swung massive spot lights over the water looking for ships, and when they found them Gatling guns were chew them apart.

Well there was a good reason clan Mechtosh were now the high clan, ruler of Kalmar.

Windus growled a command from the front of the boat a man loaded a rocket launcher and took aim at the nearest guard tower.

These squatters would soon realize that all of England belonged High King Erland

* * *

><p>.SHIFT<p>

A muffled explosion woke a sleeping troll.

Yawning he stood up and looked around, what was that sound?

Troll's at their largest were 170cm tall and weighed upward of 160Kilograms, as large as the gorillas they were said to have evolved from. Some said trolls were fat. And to be fair there dull gray, skin completely covered in calluses seemed to have rolls of fat that jiggled with every movement. But it was all loose hairless skin and under it they bulged with muscles such that a two ponder cannon could be held about like a rifle and god forbid you got in front of one holding a appropriately size hammer.

Jorden, for that was his name snorted and was about to go back to sleep when a alarm bell began to ring. They were under attack.

With a start he plodded over, it must be said that trolls knuckled walked like there possible forbearers, to where he stored his weapon for his militia training.

A heavy repeater cross bow that could fire almost three pound bolts and had a five bolt magazine. A normal human had to use a tripod to fire it and use a winch to wind it back, after five minutes of cranking. A troll could do it by hand.

Loading a bunch of bolts on his belt, which sported a kilt the only clothing he both wore, and given the bulk of trolls, could afford and with that he left his house, as another explosion scythed down a guard tower.

Exiting his house the town was lit up with people running, some to prepared defenses, others taking children out of the town.

"Jorgen!" the troll turned to see the face of the only ork in the whole town, Rupert, and given that he was the only troll the two had become friends, if only so they could complain about the lack of girls to each other.

He would have greeted him, save trolls vocal cords kept them from properly vocalization English so he just said hello, in troll. Luckily the two could understand each other, if not speak each others language.

"Come on you dirty ape, you know your post." Jorgen scoffed.

"As you wish, zombie." He replied using the old slur for orks that only his closeness as friend kept him from getting clobbered, size difference be damned.

Rupert would have pinched his nose in exasperation as was his habit before the war, if he still had a nose. Instead he sighed and marched to his combat position. Prewar Orc's tended to find there name ridiculous.

As leader of the militia he was expected to lead from the front, luckily he had kept his SAS issue G3 Assault rifle from before, if the locals forgot its name and insisted it was called a assault rifle.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

the guard towers had fallen and now the vikings were ashore. Boot slamming hard onto the dock Windus heard a crack as a bullet range overhead. They were still out of range though, and given a slight depression just before the port proper they had cover.

Growling in frustration he had to force his troops not to attack, it was not yet time and the God Abrams did not offer the after life to those who were fools upon the field of battle.

Instead his men began to deploy mortars from the hull of there long boats.

"Range?" a guff viking said holding a shell in both hands over the tube.

"500 meters, ahead." a scout said back from his post, a spy glass rooming over the victims walls. Normally enough to stop even the most determined tribal assault.

Clan Mechtosh were not tribal in the proper sense though. They ruled Kalmar! A proper kingdom! And they would have England.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

Gilbert grunted as a cross bow was tossed at him. Why did these thing always happen to him? He had lost Feldin and Jhonson as they had left to join the growing defensive wall.

Militia Sargent Rupert glared at him, though glaring was all he seemed to be able to do.

"You do know how to use a Arbalest?" with a offended look Gilbert put the cross bow on the ground, placed his foot on the stirup, grabbed the string, then, yanked it back with a grunt and the satisfying click of the string meet the nut met his ears as a bolt slid automatically groove on the tiller.

"Please. I'm Pennsic." what man did not know how to use a cross bow? It was on the crest of arms for the kingdom for pity! Breech loaders had a high rate of fire and hit harder, but given how rare prewar rifles, and smokeless ammunition was they tended to be stocked piled by the army.

Not to say they were impossible to find out side of the army just to own one you had to out either out bid the local army supply officer or find one, (and enough cartridges to make use worth while).

Britain was paying hard post war for there heavy gun restrictions prewar.

While the royal alchemist guild tried to recreate smokeless powder the citizens were stuck with black powder gun, cross bows, and long bows.

And it had to be said that most thought cross bows the better option.

Even if Gilbert favored a crossbow with a much lighter draw then a Arbalest.

Rupert nodded and was about to help some one else when a sort of loud noise echoed, a bompfu and a whistling noise.

A sound alien to any one post war, but to a pre war ork?

"Mortars!" he yelled and started to move. Gilbert was confused. Mortars? Those pot belled cannon things the army had?

The explosions started to rain down hard and fast in a relentless bombardment the scything iron shrapnel cutting every thing down in a hail of metal and fire. Gilbert ran ducking under a cart as explosions arced and around the town.

As suddenly as it started it stopped. The silence was deafening. Then it was broken by a hunting horn and the vikings were charging. The defenses were nothing and the norsemen broke into the town.

Crawling out, heart in his throat he took aim at the nearest savage and fire. The bolt bored deep into his chest, but he ignored the mortal wound and kept coming!

Quickly, trying to press out the growing chaos, sound of breaking wood, screams as women and children who had not managed to get away were found, he manged to get the cross bow ready to fire again. He looked up just in time to see the viking less then three feet away, Axe held high, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Before he had time to realize he was about to find a ax in his own skull a solid thawk echoed and a arrow the size of a mans arm grew from his arm pit slicing though his heart and killing him instantly.

Stunned he turn his head, eyes slightly glazed in shock to see Jorgen.

The Troll grunted and slammed the nose of his cross bow into the ground, pushing a rod on the side down which via a pulley yanked the bow string back on the cross bow with over 200 pound draw back with ease. The auto loader sliding a bolt into place and he was ready to fire in a half second.

With a growl he looked for a target. A viking ran head long and Jorgen did not even bother to shoot him. Lifting up on two legs he back handed him sending him flying breaking his ribs with ease.

There! A heavily armored lord he took aim and, did he have a machine gun?

With a contemptuous glare Windus entered the town followed closely by his huscarls, and unlike the more primitive clan Bear who surged around him with axes and swords, clan Mechtosh group had traded and stole extensively with people from the former world war III Eastern front nations.

And unlike the farther from the front England with heavy arm restrictions, they were overflowing with heavy weapons.

Like the Russian made PK machine gun with a sawed off barrel he held like a rifle.

With a look of annoyance he fired into the troll ripping its weapon apart in a hail of splinters. Roaring as bullets impact his chest the troll roared forward bashing men out of his way as he surged forward.

The huscarls knelt and before they could opened fire with there assault rifles as Windus fired a single 20 shot burst that blew his skull apart in a single second. The troll fell in front of him bleeding over his boots.

Ignoring the fallen, Wndus scanned the small village. It was burning for the most part and already clan Bear was starting the looting. Nothing wrong there, looting was a ancient part of conquest as was the raping of the few women who had not left.

But they had a job to do.

"Get the men back in there pants and have them start securing ground. We are but the first wave, remind them of who's clan rules who if they persist." the practically uniformed huscarls nodded and set to work.

He nodded, only to have a cross bow bolt slam into his right arm digging into the, 'flesh.'

With out a word he glared at the man who had lunched it. A thin slip of a man. He did not even bother to shoot the man who was trying to reload his cross bow. Windus spoke to one of his huscarls.

"Bring me that man." he guard nodded and went to get him as Windus watched them walk though the chaos, then clobber the man with there gun butts.

The former school teacher was dragged before chef. Just then he with a grunt he pulled the bolt out, looking at the quarrel in his hand, covers in blue fluids.

"I think saying I am not amused, would be a understatement." he dead panned in English. Dropping the arrow to the ground were it sunk a inch into the ground. With a contemptuous glare Windus took in the man who had sunk a arrow into his arm.

"Chain him up," he said in Swedish "He either come to make a conscript, or a worker, either way, he'll be useful." at that point the huscarls striking him unconscious.

Windus ignored the man being dragged away. The town was mostly theirs. The first step.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

Gilbert came to locked inside a building. To his right a sort of high pinched chuckle met drew his attention.

Rubbing his head Gilbert turned to face the goblin who had spoke.

Goblins were suppose to have evolved from chimps and size differences aside, They were much bigger than there ancestors getting more on 3 meters rather than the one and a half found in old skeletons, the resemblance was striking.

Form there jutting jaw, though less pronounced then a full blood chimp skull, to his black wiry hair that were on there heads, and only theirs head the rest of his skin was red and inflamed from radiation that caused there mutation and full body hairless. When they were not holding something they tended to knuckle walk.

"Where am I?" Gilber said rubbing his head, only to find a lump the size of his fist on the back of his head.

"Locked in one of the buildings they did not burn down." the Goblin scoffed and hissed in anger, "The cowards want to enslave us, no way in hell that can happen!" Another trait Goblins had picked from there evolution was the sheer aggressiveness of chimpanzees, a commonly sighted statistic was that most fights in the kingdom were started by Goblins.

Gilbert looked around. The room was made of solid wooden walls with no way in or out save a single door. As they watched the door was opened, a viking with a pistol and full armor entered, looked around at the two prisoners then a second man entered and tossed a third man in and left.

The two other prisoners went up to the new comer, he rocked himself up right before they could and rubbed the back of his head.

"Damn that hurt." he growled, but he did have a smile on.

"What the hell you smiling about?" the goblin asked.

"Simple. I know Rupert's just out side the building. Suddenly, on cue the bang of a assault rifle echoed though the building, it was short, no more then five short bursts. But it was enough. Soon enough the door opened and the ragged voice of the ork greeted them.

"lets move gents. The towns lost and as the official militia captain I say we get the hell out of dodge." nods went around and the three men started to move.

Gilbert gagged at the sight of the floor, all splattered in brains from the dead vikings. Rupert handed him a pistol.

"Prewar Russian make, just like a pistol cross bow save with more recoil." he nodded and took it.

"You only got 12 shots so hold it." Gilbert nodded and the small group left the building.

Just out of the building they found themselves near the harbor. With a arm wave Rupert motioned for them to follow him.

Sneaking though the dark, they avoided guard and frantic activity of others.

Sneaking under bushes, crawling though thickets, though more then one wheat field.

Until they were spotted. A lucky head turn made him see the rustling stalks and he blew a horn to sound the alarm. Among the town men started to move and they plowed into the corn field.

"Run!" someone yelled, may even have been himself Gilbert thought and the group started to do just that. A few moments latter they left the corn field, only a 30 meters gap between them and the forest. At ten meters Ruppert stopped and spun to face the vikings were just now leaving the field.

Gilbert stopped and spun around. "Ruppert! Come on!"

"Keep going smooth skin! I'll slow em down!" and with that he took aim and fired a burst at the nerest viking. The pre war bullets doing there job and cutting though his armor like paper.

Then a whistle cut though the air and a arrow plowed into the nearest mans chest knocking him down. That one arrow was soon joined by many each fired in perfect volleys.

Knowing covering fire when he saw it Ruppert turned and charged into the forest.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

Windus watched from the palisades around the town as the man escaped under the rain of arrows.

The man to his right watched though the scope of his rifle.

"Kill him" Windus said. The heavy Russian made KSVK 12.7 roared.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

The large bullet blew the old orks spine apart. His dieing thought was simply a evaluation of just how ridiculous his death was.

_"Born a human, mutated by radiation into a ork, trained by the SAS, killed by sniper rifle using vikings over 200 years after my birth. If this was a internet article I would have closed it in disgust right now."_

With that, he died.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

The camp fire burned brightly in the dark, both the literal and kind that sat in Gilbert's heart. Around it sat the other survivors, the man and the goblin. He had not bothered to learn there names in the confusion that was his mind.

Sighing he looked at his hands, not stained with ink, but blood.

One of his saviors squatted down next to him. The man handed him a bowl of soap.

"Eat." he said in heavily accented English. "You need it." Thanking him, Gilbert took it.

The refugees had been saved form the Norsemen,by a troop of elves and it was in there camp, they rested in.

Elves were mutated from humans and had long pointed ears that were built for seeking sounds far better then any human. They also, with out fault, had brown skin, but not a natural shade of brown that could be found prewar but a almost tree colored tone.

Aside from those two facts, and there very different culture, they could pass for human with ease.

The Elves were only nominally part of the kingdom, originating in Ireland were normal humans seemed to have gone extinct for some reason.

A few tribes had move to England though and these tribes were part of the kingdom even if most of there kind were not.

In return for protection land and free places to live safe from sea born raiders, they were fully expect to, if not pay taxes (due to the fact the kingdoms only tax system was a system of sales taxes) but any other duty's due to a citizen.

Caedmon, nodded and spoke up. "The other citizens are heading to Burgh Castle. We shall guard you."

Gilbert nodded and looked into the fire, trying hard to ignore a part of elf culture and biology were they were immune to the weather no matter how cold it so when they only wore pants. Even if they were women.

Kingdom doctors had long since found out the elves ran almost 20 degrees hotter then base line humans, in fact the ears likely helped with cooling in summer.

"Thank you." he said at last and turned to face Caedmon. "That viking chef had a machine gun they just don't do that. Do they?"

"Cleanly these clan does." he said frowning the facial expression accented by the green, almost barely noticeable tattoos on his face. "We need to inform the kingdom."

Gilbert nodded and looked back in the fire. This was just the start. He knew it.

* * *

><p><em>So, dress your ranks! <em>

_ Lift your pikes! _

_Tight as the teeth of a comb! _

_Rattling, clanking, down the road, the war is going home_

_The Leslie Fish song Serious steel played a massive part in the inspiration for this chapter, even if the only direct word is the kingdom of Pensic. in the song a bunch of reenacts get caught in the apocalypse and as they go home they end up righting wrongs. very simlar, i merely had fallout-E mutations, and hell given England LOOOONNNNNGG tradition of fairy's how do i not use them? _

_Another thing i had firmly in mind for this chapter is one word, Crossbow-punk.O and if i did not make it clear enough, Orks are ghouls.  
><em>


	7. Addium Poland I

It took two days to bury Adelaide and Sczesny, he too died, when the farm was burned down. Taking shelter in the old burned out farm, though it had to be said he did not get much sleep.

After burying them he decided his best bet was to head to the town of Bateria and start there. It would be a three day journey following road.

On the third day he left. Andelaide sword on his hip, a pair of rifles over his shoulders he left.

Tramping through the snow over the prewar road he forced all of what happened into a dark corner of his head. His only thoughts were getting his mom and sister back.

He marched the whole day though, but that the first night he crowded close to his fire, as forms, both imagined and real prowled along the edge of the light, as he tried to avoid falling asleep for fear of them.

That next day, a much more tired and hungry Radek was moving again. At a cross roads he paused in front of a sign trying to think, which way to go? He had been to Bateria before, and this sign even told him which way to go!

He was, just having trouble processing it that's all.

A voice behind him broke his chain of thought, if you can call two links a 'chain'.

"You look like death warmed over. You alright?" turning, a man with a small, no more than five people with a horse drawn wagon, group behind him was talking to him.

Radek blinked slowly. "I..I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, oh right then." The man said slowly. "You know the way to Falen?"

"Falen was destroyed by Landsknechts, not more than four days ago." God! Was it really that short a time that his world was turned upside down?

"What!" The man said shocked. "Destroyed? But.. How?"

"I only saw a saw a small piece of it, but they just, killed every one."

He shook his head again. "I won't ask if you're OK. You're not."Radek nodded. "You heading to Bateria?" Again he nodded. "Well, now we're going that way. If you don't mind sleeping in a moving cart, I think we have space for you." Radek was only too happy to take him up on that.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

That night, around the camp fire a fully rested (if sore and stiff) Radek finally learned about his benefactors.

They were traders who had been going to Falen, now Bateria.

The leader, who had changed the direction on them, was named Ludwik.

As he munched on the supplies that, thrice dammed gypsy Jasna "gave' him, he answered Ludwik's questions about how he survived and what he knew.

"Do you have any what this, Remnant is?"

Ludwik shrugged. "Not much. First I've heard of them honestly. But many nobles use there prewar blood line as an excuse to rule. The Umwa family that rule Bateria are descended from a US marine Colonel. They use the original US mandate on controlling that hill as the reason for ruling."

Radek shook his head, he was a farmer! All he need to know was how to grow plants! This whole, political, descents, thing was a pain!

All he knew was noble and army's were bad news, they conscripted you, stole your food to feed themselves, taxed you and generally were a blight on the land. Luckily he had no first hand experience, but the specter of it happening hung low over all peasant farmers.

"Great. So it could be any one with enough money and power to utterly destroy me ten times over."Radek sighed.

"Where do I even begin?"

"You have any leads?" Ludwik asked. For a moment Radek did not answer, just watching the flickering flames of the fire and the long casting shadows.

"One, if you can count being lead on a wild myth chased a lead."

"What is it?"

"Jasna told me to seek out Baba Yaga."The merchants all looked nervous and more then one crossed himself.

"Your are screwed."Ludwik said break the silence of the crackling fire. "That's just a story. And even so who in there right mind would go to Prypiat?"

"Prypiat?"Radek said confused.

"It's one big ghost city, nothing but the creaking of buildings, the crackle of you Geiger counter, and the howls of Zombies and monsters to keep you company."

"And she would be there, why?" Radek said a sinking feeling in his stomach growing larger.

"That's just what I heard."Ludwik said with a shrug. "A story says when the bombs fell the old wise women was so disgusted by what man had done that she left taking all the spirits of the land with her. She said to have gone to a land already devoid of man and there she lives alone. Another story, tells how shortly after the war a Russian solider found her, and was turned into the first Chernobler."

"A, what?"Radek said the sinking feeling turning into the Bismark.

"A monster. You see them close to the reactor, we are no where near it, so we never see them. Depending on the story their either men, or unholy amalgamations of meat and metal given life, some times both at the same time. And to even get there you have to go though Cossack territory and they do not like visitors. "

Radek paled. Still it was his only lead. "You plan on heading to Prypiat?

"I...I suppose I have no choice." Radek said with a sigh. "First, I need to get to Bateria though."

"And you need a equally insane group behind you." A second merchant said. "Going it alone would be suicide, even more then normal!" Radek sighed.

"I have no choice." silence then Ludwik coughed. "Well lets take this one day at a time. We both head to Bateria to thank you for warning us about Falen. But then we part ways." Radek nodded.

"I'll take first watch."Ludwik nodded as well and the merchant began to slowly fall asleep.

In the gloom of the night Radek poked at the fire, his mind a thousand miles away as he contemplated what he had do to.

It was just about impossible!

And he had to try.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

The next day Radek awoke to the smell of badly cooked and burnt sausages. At this point no one else was awake though a few people were close to being woken by the pan fired food. Stretching he stood up. "Morning Radek." The man said and handed him a plate of sausages even before he fully stood up.

"Uh, thanks." He said and plowed into the small plate of meat. Finishing up he then stood up and stretched. Stretching fully upright started to roll up his sleeping bag.

"So, Radek do you even know how to shoot?" he asked. Radek sighed.

"I only have experiences with rifles and iron sights. Still how different can they be from anything else."

"Flint locks?" he said suspiciously.

"...Yes, only flint locks." Radek growled.

"Well let's fix that." He drew a revolver "You want to learn how to take care of more complicate things kid?"

"Why are you offering to help me?" Radek asked.

"Two reasons: One you're a nice kid and I don't mind helping you out. Two: If you do succeed with you mission, you will be a legend. Just remember my name, Mateusz, when they tell it."

Radek nodded whatever the reason he had for helping him he needed it.

"When do we start?"

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

The booming cracks of a black powder revolver echoed loudly around the small stream bed.

They had traveled roughly half the day and were taking a break for the horses.

Right now a number of nuke a cola bottles on a stump were sentenced to death.

Waving his hand though the smoke Mateusz watched Radek reloaded the weapon "Much better. Again, hit that center bottle.

Taking aim he pulled the hammer back with his thumb and fired.

The bottle exploded.

"Well you've got pistols down. Show me those rifles of yours." Nodding he put the pistol into a gun belt and quickly drew the bolt rifle from his shoulder, taking aim he fired it, worked the bolt and fire again.

Two more bottles went to heaven.

"Your better at this then I thought." Mateusz said approvingly. "Know how to reload it?" nodding Radek demonstrated sliding a stripper clip into the clip.

"I take it you've got this down. Now the boring bit, now we take it apart." Radek nodded.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

Sliding the last part of the assault rifle into place Radek sighed and flexed his aching fingers.

It was many hours since they had stopped and they had set up camp and it was dark around the fire. Radek sighed and warmed his hands by the fire.

Mateusz held the rifle up and whistled. "I still can't believe you got a assault rifle. Nobles hoard these things like you can not believe. In fact, it may be best for you to sell it, or you may have to pass as some nobles bastard."

Radek nodded in agreement. "Your merchants. Do you want it?" at the smell of profit Ludwik perked up.

"A fully functional assault rifle? In perfect condition? I think I have a farm for you!" Ludwik joked.

* * *

><p>SHIFT<p>

After another early start the small group was moving down the snowy road.

With one less Assault rifle Radek now had a set leather Brigandine armor. As some one had sarcastically said his life span was now measured in minutes.

Again the pressure of the task in front of him bore down on him. Sighing he squared it away.

"Hey Ludwik is something coming up the road?" the appointed leader looked in the direction the man pointed.

"Ya I see them. Men at arms!" he said suddenly the men knew what to do and began to pull off the road.

"Whats going on?" Radek asked. Again, compared to most peasants Radek had been very sheltered and knew little about nobility.

"God what don't you know? Men at arms are a lord personal troops exact armament differs from lord to lord, some use swords, others gun, pre and post war, some use those fancy cross bows from Albion. The point is," at this he stopped walking as they were off the road. "They are skilled and powerful in both arms and in the political sense and will get shown proper respect or they will beat it out of you!"

Silently the group waited for the men at arms to approach and when they were close they fell, or in Radek's case were pulled to there knees.

Still even with his head down Radek got a good look at the troops as they marched by.

There were 15 of them in three ranks of five lead by a single Sargent in the front. Armored in a chain mail hauberk, over lapped with blue cloth with a red shoulder and left arm. In both hands they clenched pre war assault rifles as there main weapon and had broad swords at there hips.

Behind them a pair horse drew a wagon sporting a single 30 cal machine gun and some assorted supplies. The whole thing was painted in bold blue and red to fit with the infantry's motif.

Not even looking at them they marched on.

Just when Radek was sure he get frost bite in his legs they stood up.

"God they had a Tachanka*! I hate to be the one there after!"

"Ya." Radek said watching the troops shrink, they fade from sight. "I hate to be them." for some reason his left hand, the one under his pipboy itched.

* * *

><p><em>*A horse drawn machine gun<em>.


	8. Addium Canada I

The ground shook and pounded before the onrushing titian.

Animals fled from the black beast, roaring red hot air and splitting the chill winter night air with a ungodly scream

Rattling forward, fire burning it its chest, it rushed though the night clouds of steam issuing from its flanks as it inhaled great gouts of chill air and exhaled the fumes, trails of ash issuing form it like a forest fire.

Whistling it pulsed forward, it human handlers pushing it for ever greater speed feeding its great hunger and insatiable thirst.

Rattling behind it, though the cold, cold night, the mighty beast from before the war dragged carriages full of men, cars full of men, and many cannons as it raced down the road.

Once more the iron beast whistled though the cold night as it rushed onward pasted a intersection.

Fires burning, water boiling, pistons pumping, the 4-6-4 Royal Hudson pushed though the night it the destination of this venerable pre war locomotive?

Nova scotia.

SHIFT

Dudley was working on a letter in the dark of his cabin. A single lantern pushed though the dark to illuminate his work. Spread out on the desk the parts of a Mp5 sub machine gun rattled and vibrated as the train rumbled down the tracks.

He finished his letter and rapidly reassembled the sub machine gun. Pausing he looked out the window at the land scape rushing by.

A knock at his door drew his attention and he quickly opened it.

"Chuck." he said acknowledging his red headed, bearded friend. "What are you doing up so late?

The fellow Mountie smiled as he entered. "Likely the same you are. Captain sent me to tell you we have a meeting tomorrow car 8 at 9 Am."

"Thanks Chuck." Dudley said and sat down on his bed planning to get some sleep. Chuck though had good eyes.

"Who you writing? A sweet heart back home?"

"In a manner of speaking. I promised I write my family every time my post changes. I plan to send that when we settle in."

"O right then." Chuck said smiling. With that he tipped his hat and left the cabin. Dudley stood up and silently blew the lantern out.

SHIFT

Car 8 was packed. Filled with red uniformed mounties they all faced a wall were a slid projected cast the image of a ship in swathed in fog.

The captain had to speak forcefully to be fully understood over the rattle of the train.

"This is a picture taken by patrol almost three weeks ago. According to are records, and more then one history book that is a fairly close replica of a viking long ship." more then a few hushed conversations started. Vikings? Now? That was, just silly!

"As we all know, the Vikings had colony's in green land and North America. They were also raiders with out par." the slide changed this time showing a burned out village. "This picture was taken three weeks ago. The timing is suspicions as all hell."

"To count this threat Mounties are being redeployed to the coastal areas and we have support of the East Coast Democracy. There deploying a few Knight squads to support us." more murmurs started this time about the ECD.

Did they really use Alien technology? And every one wanted a look at there power armor! Rumors said it could take a cannon ball and come right back up!

The captain kept going. "you will receive you individual postings at are station. Dismissed." with that the meeting was over and Dudley, along with the rest of the Mounties returned to there post.

SHIFT

Ranging just ahead of the Royal Hudson a 4-4-0 engine pushed on ward.

It was not so much a engine, as a steam powered coach built for speed its one goal was to make sure the track was both clear, and intact for the more importation liner behind it and it was as close to disposable as a steam engine could get built to go flying off the tracks at top speed with no loss in life or damage.

Still the men with telescopes on the front of the Scouter, as it was called, watched the track for any and all breaks that could throw a train. Add a high piercing whistle that could be heard for many miles in any direction and warning was guaranteed for any break.

"Hay Jake, is there a break a head of us?" the first one said squinting though his scope.

"ya, I think so, I'll tell the engineer to sound a warning whistle and reduce speed. Looks about 50 miles ahead." the other man nodded and went into the engine proper.

The whistle screamed across the plains.

Soon the train started to slow and huffed to a stop. Drawing a pair of rifles for defense the two men left the locomotive to look at the possible break.

Once there they examined the broken track.

"Great, a bandit had to have done that." Jake looked around. All he saw were Nova scotia forest to either side the track. Though there was about a 15 meter gap to either side between the tracks to the forest proper.

"How do you know?"

"I know." he kicked the snow off the track. "This was done with tools even if they did cart the track off."

"They could have just taken the steel?" Jake hazarded.

"possible." the more experienced hand said grudgingly.

To either side of the forest a pair of sharp cracks rang out.

The trains whistles screamed a warning. Bandits.

Normally a sign for the following train to run away. But this train was loaded to the gills with Mounties. They kept going.

SHIFT

The train slowly huffed forward. The Scouter blocked the way forward, ahead of it a break in the tracks.

Then it came to a stop. With a great gout of steam it slowly depressed its boiler so a stay short would not blow it apart.

In the silence you could cut the tension in the cars with a knife. Dudley drummed his fingers on the stock of his rifle as he waited for the single to open fire.

Then with a horn blow the 'ambush' was sprung upon them.

It was a image that for its sheer anachronism made even hardened soldiers pause.

Vikings, horns on there head, axes in there hands, Vikings! Were trying to do a train robbery.

Surging out the of the forest they charged forward as the occasional rifle shot pinged into cars.

Then the whistle screeched and the 'victims' opened fire. Every fifth car had a 8 pounder on it. A gun port flipped open, the cannon ran out, and with a booming roar a blast of Canister shot was fired. Almost 3,234 iron BB shredded the attackers with one volley.

Dudley spun around to look out the window, poked his rifle though opening and fired, along with almost 18 other mounties at the windows, in his car alone.

The vikings did not make it five meters.

Sliding a pair of bullets into his lever action Dudley quickly turned and left his cabin. In good order he, and the other Monties dismounted and gave chase to the few scattered survivors.

SHIFT

The pair of long boats were dragged ashore along the banks of the small river.

Huscarl Johunson drummed his hand on his axe handle as he watched the water go in and out.

That had been a cannon blast he had heard it. But still nothing.

He huffed and leaned against the boat in silent fury. Something was off, by Abrums it was!

He frowned deeper.

His frown disappeared. Wiped from his face by .45-70 Gov't bullet.

Lever actions hammering the Mounties poured fire into the bullets, any exposed man was shot apart in a hail of lead as other pushed under the covering fire bayonets gleaming.

Boots clattering over the gravel river bank they stormed forward. Gripping the side of the boats they hefted themselves up the top.

Dudley was the first on top. The boat deck was clear save for row after row of rowing benches.

With a roar a viking charged him, axe high screaming at the top of his lungs.

Lifting the rifle he parred the blow and with a slashing motioned tried to disembowel him.

Nothing, the man stumbled back, slightly winded but no effect. The bullet that took his heart out had better results.

Stepping forward the rifle stabbed into the man chest behind him, piercing the chain mail hauberk, twisting his rifle to his side the dying man was dropped to his right, and the rifle butt slammed into the next mans skull caving it in.

Dudley may not have been the brightest Mountie, but arguably he was one of the strongest.

At the rear of the boat a viking stepped forward out of the darkness of the hold, a snarl on his face, ready to fight, kill and die in the name of the gods, only to trip. Casting a spiteful glare the slave who had tripped his gave a wide smirk going form pointy ear to pointy ear.

"You think you funny!" with a snarl he lifted his axe, and got a rifle bullet though his armpit for his trouble. Dudley worked the lever on his rifle as he step over the warriors chest and fired into the dark as he hoped to clear it out some what.

"Free me." casting a eye to his right Dudly met the green eyes of the slave.

"What?" he asked. His accent was barely understand able, and those ears.

"Free men." he said lifting the manacles up. With a shrug Dudley smashed his rifle bayonet into them shattering them.

Before he could blink the man dove forward griping the fallen mans axe and with a over hand throw sent it flying into a vikings chest sending the man spilling over the edge of the boat.

Dudley did not even notice. Now sure the slave could take care of him self he shouldered his rifle and drew his MP-5 sub machine gun and marched into the cargo hold and started to blaze at anything that moved.

SHIFT

That night the boats were burned.

Only minimal losses and only one slave saved. Nova, as he had called him self watched the boats burn. He wore a freshly given Mountie uniform and as far as he cared he could be part of there clan, after all they had saved him,

Still, his ears twitched, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles. A bit heady.

A voice, Dudley he had been called in battle drew his attention.

"I heard you were going to try out as a Mountie."

The former slave turned to face him and bowed at the waist. "indeed, I would be re missed in my duty if I did not join the clan of my saviors."

Blinking Dudley had to think about that a lot, the accent was really heavy. When he priced it together he spoke. "Its more complicated then that to be a Mountie you need to show skill with, guns, horseback riding, a near encyclical knowledge of laws."

"When do we start?" he said simply. Well Mountie had the right to pick up recruits if they met a willing man who they thought would do well.

It meant the two had to work together like a dupty and sheriff, though squire and knight might be a better analogy. And god knows the way he clocked the viking was proof enough.

"Whats your name?" he asked after think it over, yes he would talk to the captain.

"Fintan Bower Clan Wargs born."

"Where are you from?" the Mountie asked.

"Ireland, northern Ireland." at his floored expression a almost childish glee came over him and his long ears twitched at the last part. "Did I mention I'm a elf?"


	9. Addium: England I: Pensic Battle Manual

Pensic Battle Manuel (Abridged)

Organization of the army. (Abridged)

Drafted: 2123

Author: General Edwina Ace.

* * *

><p>The army of Pensic shall be divided based upon species.<p>

Humans shall form the battle legions, Frumentarii, and Goblins the secondary legions.

Gremlins shall be artillery men, mechanics, vehicle operator and artillery and Frumentarii.

Trolls shall form heavy shock troops.

Elves shall when applicable form auxiliary scouts and raiders to support battle formations.

Ork shall be vehicle operators, mechanics and Frumentarii.

* * *

><p><span>The Battle Legion's.<span>

The Legions are the main battle force of the Pensic. They shall be heavily armed and outfitted in all manner of war and battle. They shall bear the brunt of their own supply and carry it on long distance march's, where the secondary legions cannot follow.

Every man in the Legion shall be issued the following and shall be held responsible for the upkeep of their arms, armor tools, supply's and other implements of war.

In battle each legionary shall have:

One set of Lorica segmentata armor.

One chainmail Hauberk to cover arms and legs.

One Manica for each arm. (Armguard)

Greave's for each leg.

Helmet that cover's the skull, the neck, the cheeks and allows peripheral vision and hearing.

One Crossbow with a eight hundred minimal pound draw.

One Cranequin's with a three-one mechanical advantage. (Crank)

One hundred bolts.

Five Rifled flint lock pistol's, and twenty rounds of shot and powder. See full kit.

One Pensic Gladius sword.

One Pugio dagger

One Scutum shield

In full kit the legionaries shall bare the following on the march.

Six days of water and two of food.

A pack containing the following's: A satchel, cloak, cook pot, mess tin, shaving kit, toiletries, flint, tinder, one hundred bullets, powder, flint, bullet molds, pots and all necessary to produce shot.

Ten pound's of black powder for blasting purposes.

Each Legionary shall be grouped in groups of eight men to a tent and shall be responsible for the following.

One mule

One tent.

Entrenching tool's, including, but not limited to, hook's, scythe's, spade's, shovel's, pickaxe's, wheelbarrow's and basket's for digging and transporting earth; together with hatchet's, axe's and saw's for cutting wood.

One grind stone.

Two spare bullets molds.

Twenty four thousand bolts.

Food for three weeks and animal feed for one.

Three Pavise's. (Large convex shield)

Each Tent shall be commanded by a sergeant to whom primary organization of the transport of the above shall be upon.

Additionally, every ninth tent in each Centuria shall be sized to twenty men and shall care for the following heavy weapons.

Five Gatling guns complete with caissons, magazines, speed loaders, and all things to enable firing.

Fourteen horses.

Two wagons.

Four thousand, five hundred, heavy weapon bullets.

All the tools and equipment needed to aid the field manufacturing of bullet's, shaft's, gear's, firing pin's and any other items require for field operations when possible.

Nine tents shall make up a Centuria of hundred men.

Ten Centuria will make up a legion of one thousand men.

Tactics

In battle the Centuria will be the smallest unit of deployment. Each Legionary is to use his cross bow as the primary weapon, until the enemy closes to mid range.

They shall loose all loaded bolts, sling their crossbows over their shoulders, draw their pistols and fire into the onrushing enemy, then, draw their swords and enter the melee, the pistols having thinned and startled the foe to make the task easier.

The Gatling guns shall lend support to any advance and support the legions.

* * *

><p><span>Secondary legions.<span>

Secondary Legions are to be lighter troops able to move faster and have less armor than the Battle legions.

In battle each secondary legionary shall have:

One set of Lorica segmentata armor.

One chainmail Hauberk to cover arms and legs.

Greaves for each leg.

Helmet that cover's the skull, the neck, the cheeks and allows peripheral vision and hearing.

Five Rifled flint lock pistols, and twenty round shot and powder. (See full kit.)

One Pugio dagger

One. Two meter spear.

One Scutum shield

In full kit the Secondary legionaries shall bare the following on the march.

Six days of water and two of food.

A pack containing the following's: A satchel, cloak, cook pot, mess tin, shaving kit, toiletries, flint, tinder, one bullets, powder, flint, bullet molds, pots and all necessary to produce shot.

Each legionary shall be grouped in groups of ten men to a tent and shall be responsible for the following.

One grind stone.

one mule.

Entrenching tool's, including, but not limited to: hook's, scythe's, spade's, shovel's, pickaxe's, wheelbarrow's and basket's for digging and transporting earth; together with hatchet's, axe's and saw's for cutting wood.

Ten tents shall make up a Centuria of one hundred men.

Ten Centuria will make up a legion of one thousand men.

Tactics

The Secondary legions, without the marching ability of the battle legions, shall be a faster moving force. They shall be a strictly melee force supporting the battle legions.

* * *

><p><span>Centuria Altilium<span>

The Centuria Altilium shall be responsible for the care, maintenance and use of heavy weapons for use in open battle and siege.

These weapons included, but not limited to, Cannon's, howitzers, morters and Rocket's.

Membership in Altilium will be open to humans, Orks and Gremlins.

Each member of the Altilium will have familiarity with the mathematics of ballistics.

Each tent shall number ten individuals and each tent shall be assigned a weapon for firing and maintenance. Every three tents will be further grouped in to a battery of three weapons, under command of a battery Centurion. It is his responsibility to make sure the weapons under his command are in full function and have enough powder and shot for two drills a week for three weeks at any one time.

A Centuria will number one hundred and 20 men and consist of nine guns, ninety gunners, and 30 thirty dedicate animal handler's to ensure the proper portage of the artillery.

Centuria are not further grouped into legions.

Each man shall carry six days of water and two of food.

Each man is expected to become familiar with all battery weapons in the arsenal of Pensice. At the time of the writing these include.

Twelve pounder cannon's.

Six pounder.

Three pounder breech loader.

Congreve rockets

Hale rockets.

Tactics

It fall's Altilium to pound the enemy positions from long range to allow the Legions to fight the battered and weakened foe.

* * *

><p><span>Shock Legions.<span>

Membership in the Shock corps will be exclusively Trolls.

Trolls shall charge into a weak point in the enemy line making gaps others to exploit, and in long range combat they shall attack with heavy cross bows.

Every Troll shall be issued the following:

One Hand ballista one thousand 200 minimal pound draw.

Two hundred bolts.

One full body chain mail hauberk

Pair of armored gauntlet's that shall extend to the elbow.

Additionally knights when fielded shall be equipped as follows. Each knight is held responsible for his gear and is not provided by the state.

One full suit of plate mail.

One pair of spiked gauntlets.

Each trolls shall number three to a tent and ten tents will make up a Centuria. Ten Centuria shall make up a legion.

Each troll will carry food and water for one week.

Tactics

Trolls shall form a hard core to them the breaking of the enemy line shall fall for the legions to sweep up.

* * *

><p><span>Legion vehiculum<span>

Legion Vehiculum will be composed of Pensic's armored core.

The Legion shall be divided into two elements, post war vehicles, and rebuilt prewar vehicles.

Mechanics in the Vehiculum must understand how the following systems work and how to repair and maintain them:

Steam.

Radiation

Petrol.

Each combat tent in the Vehiculum will number the minimal number of people for the combat vehicle they pilot. Each member of a combat tent shall bare the rank of captain. The master Sergeant of each tent shall be the vehicle commander.

Five tents of like vehicles shall be a Centuria. For every combat tent there shall be three non combat tents to care for each vehicle.

Transport vehicles

Transport vehicles shall care spec op teams or supply hauling.

Tactics

The Vehiculum will fall the heaviest of assaults, Only the most pressing of the defense. They will be the elite, the expensive, hard to maintain elite.

Militum Ferriviaria

Military trains shall be locomotives pressed into service to either haul supplies, men, vehicles and all other implements of war.

The state shall make sure that all locomotives in civilian use are by design able to use by the military.

Each train shall be commanded by a Centurion and each train shall be guarded by a Centuria of men at minimal.

* * *

><p><span>Frumentarii<span>

Frumentarii, or special operations forces, shall be armed with prewar weapons.

They shall be chosen from the strongest of men under arms within Pensic. Their goal will be to do what a army cannot and perform objectives key to the survival of Pensic.

Each solider shall bare the following as standard gear.

One rifle.

One pistol

One Pensic Gladius sword.

One camouflaged combat uniform.

Four grenades, pre or post war make.

Every tent of ten men shall have the following.

One Sniper rifle

One machine gun

Frumentarii Altilium shall be responsible for pre war artillery weapons.

Frumentarii shall be attached to legions to lend support to the cross bow armed companions in close support.

* * *

><p><span>Auxiliary<span>

The Auxiliary shall be formed of Elven long bowmen and scouts. The Auxiliary shall be open to all races and each formation shall purely be one race.

Each formation will keep a standing Centuria of Auxiliary for use as a scout force.

The task of the Auxiliary shall be sole of scouting and raiding the foe. Each solider in the Auxiliary shall have a one hundred and seventy pound draw crossbow.

One hundred and thirty bolts.

One Pensic Gladius sword.

One Pugio dagger

Elves within the auxiliary shall be treated with all due respect. It shall be stated the elves fight with the Legions by each tribe's choice and each tribe is under no due obligation to serve, or even follow the orders, of any one commander.

There shall be ten men to a tent, ten tents to the Centuria and ten Centuria to the Legion.

Tactics

Raiding, scouting and denial of enemy supply shall be the goal of the Auxiliary. In the event the Auxiliary cannot mass enough for this task then there sole goal shall be scouting.

* * *

><p><span>Equites<span>

Calvary shall be open to humans. To them shall fall the task of running down the foe, raiding and scouting.

Every man in the Equites shall be issued the following

One chain mail hauberk

One lance

One Pensic Gladius sword.

One Pugio dagger

One Cranequin's with a three-one mechanical advantage. (Crank)

One hundred bolts.

His horse and all the riding gear needed and implied.

Each tent shall number ten men and each Centuria shall number three tents.

Each Calvary man shall have a cart and on the march shall carry supplies for the legion including but not limited to food, water, ammunition, powder and feed for animals.

Tactics:

The Calvary goal will be to ride down infantry, deliver messages in battle and scout. Not to deliver crushing charges.

The Calvary are light forces, not knights.

The Equites and Auxiliary shall be attached to legions and not used as independent formations. Every legion shall have a force of Auxiliary to screen the advance.

* * *

><p><span>Command<span>

Each tent is commanded by a sergeant.

Each Centuria is commanded by a Centurion save when a special name is specified else were. The most senior Centurion with in a formation is called the Centurion Chevron.

Each Legion is commanded by a Legate. In the even the Legate dies the Centurion Chevron shall take command. It is highly recommended that a Legate work with the Centurion Chevron. The Centurion Chevron shall command the first Centuria. In the event that two legions must work together with no clear command then then the most senior commander shall be in over all command.

Each Auxiliary Centurion

Each Legate is assigned to a general and shall weigh in on major strategic and tactical meetings as pertaining to their legion. In the event a formation does not have a Legion level command, such as Altilium, there Centurion Chevron commander shall be present were necessary.

Each general shall be commissioned and empowered by both houses the grand parliament and then approved by the king.

Command is expected to pass down the chain of command. Generals order Legates, who order Centurions, who order sergeants who in turn lead tents.

* * *

><p><em>Not really a story this time, just a lot of back ground information so i don't have to explain a lot when i get the complex Pensice chapters rolling. that and i really enjoyed working on it.<em>


	10. afghanistan

_War, war never changes._

_During what was suppose to be the last war the middle east, and its vast oil reserves, was home to some of the most vicious fighting between China and the US. It alone was spared the atomic fire by the virtue of having oil, the objective everyone wanted, and no one wished to destroy._

_When the world was destroyed many could say the two army's did not notice and continued to throw themselves at each other, not out of national pride, but out of hate, for all there comrades in arms the other army had slain._

_But mid East was always a war zone and even though they were not hit directly the winds blew the radioactive ash of civilization toward them._

_Plants wither, cattle died, already hard desert life grew harder and the tension that was always in the heart of the mid east exploded in one final act of self destructive violene._

_To list the long litany of woe would take books, Kurds destroyed as a people, Israeli children starving as tanks rolled past them, city's burned, history lost, in the last act the Kaaba destroyed._

_No one knows who did, a Chinese bomb? American artillery? A stay shot? Or a mad man with dynamite?_

_That last act, set forth what could only be called a crusade. A man Abraham a former IDF captain saw in that last act of destruction a sign of god to finally end this petty hate. He preached, and a war tone population finally listened._

_Thus began to start of the new Ottoman empire calling it self off the most successful empire to rule the middle east._

_Abraham started it but it took almost 100 years to do it. From Turkey, to Iraq, to Iran, Saudi Arabia, to Yemen the empire was formed._

_But energy can only be converted not destroyed. The fires that once burned it self were now focused outward to unify the world and bring about a new kingdom dedicated to god, peace and freedom._

_Even if they had to war every one else into submission._

_And war, war never changes._

* * *

><p>Engineering log: Z-043<p>

Attempts to atomicity synthesis Helium have proven to dangerous to continue and the Holy President has forbid further research on the subject due to the dangers.

So we shall have to use the Hydrogen model for all future Zeppelins. Electrolysis facility's are at last quarter 75% complete, hydrogen bottling has proven much more complex. Perhaps we could use the Goldbeater's skin, much like the planed Zeppelin skin?

Again the Zeppelins have proven startling hard to scale up, especially since the end result is a heavy bomber a scout blimp would be so much easier.

On a related note the prototype E-7 model flechette has proven most effective under controlled gravity drop conditions.

The main problem at this point is keeping the rigid air frame upright while we wait for the Hydrogen to arrive to fill the ship. At this point its own bulk is damaging it internal ribs which are not designed to take any weight. And until we fill it we will not know if the math about how Hydrogen we need is correct. Z-1 may prove be a waste of time, cow skin and metal.

In other notes the reports from the chemical labs show that the Goldbeater's skin has finally been successful on a large scale and the first major shipment is expect soon.

Less pleasantly the engines,

Hakeen was interrupted form his log booking by the sound of a knock at his door. He looked up over his desk.

His work room was a simple affair. Little bigger then a bed room. It over looked the main hanger and though a window you could see the growing zeppelin frame. Right now few people were working on it, they needed the Goldbeater skin to do more then build the wooden frame.

The only sign it was the office of the Chef of the Holy Ottoman empire's light than air flight division, as well as its head light than air aeronautic designer, and yes the implication of there being a heavier then air flight divisions was obvious, were three paintings and one photo on the wall.

One a technical design showing the blue print for the Damocles, the Zeppelin they were working on.

Next to it was a photo showing the entire design team around a design table.

The last two were fanciful paintings one showing the zeppelin being lunched, long ropes being held tight by a ground crew as the massive whale like bulk of the zeppelin strained upward.

The last painting showed three zeppelins bombarding a castle with heavy rockets. It was quite, sci fiy streaming rocket contrails, muzzle flashes and explosions. All very impressive.

Also: completely stupid. Honestly that much open fire? On a hydrogen air ship? For reference hydrogen was the most flammable gas in existence.

Still a good image of what they hoped for. A flying WMD. Even as the thought hit him Hakeen frowned. The prospect of a gas attack from a mile up was a terrifying image.

Hakeen spoke up shaking his head of that nightmare image. "Come in the doors unlocked."

His secretary, Isra walked in clenched a clip board to her chest. "Hakeen! A couple Janissary are coming to talk to you there be here in minutes!"

"W-w-w-what!" Hakeen stuttered cursing that trait where he stuttered under stress. He took a deep breath. "W-w- why are they here?"

"I don't know!" she half shrieked in panic. "The Zeppelin is coming slowly! Maybe too slow!"

"It's going as f-f-fast as it can!" Hakeen panicked back before he took another quick breath. "When will they be here?"

"Now." she whispered and quickly stepped aside bowing as the two Janissary entered.

Janissary in the Ottoman empire were brightly elite uniformed soldiers.

In the Holy Ottoman republic they were the abhorrently children of the CIA, Russian commissars, and the SS.

They wore identical uniforms, gray great coats with dull buttons, so they did not shine and get the attention from a alert sentry. There pants were loose slacks that allowed ample and easy movement. They were wearing helmets that covered there whole head save there faces and thankfully the last part of there uniform, the gas mask was not being worn, it was not even in sight. If they had been wearing it that meant they did not want to be recognized.

It would have meant some one was likely going to die.

The two of them, one had a mustache and other did not sat down in one of the two chairs across from him perfectly silently and in sync.

For a moment no one said anything. Till the older of the two men, the one with the mustache spoke up.

"No were not here to kill you. The most Holy president merely wish to check some figures with you." Hakeen nodded nervously. "yes, of c-c-c-course. F-forgive me." he said quickly. They acted like they had not noticed. Or were ignoring it.

"Well, I don't know what he w-w-wants me to check, I sent him all the inf-f-f-formation last time.

"We know." the younger one said put a book on the table, opening it to a bookmarked page and then pointed to a line in red.

"The problem is this. Do you really need 199,973.571 m3 of Hydrogen."

Hakeen leaned back. "That numbers B-b-based on the Hindenburg. Are first Zeppelin is going to be more of a trial case and a training ground for new Zeppelin pilots. So I expect we will need less for getting the final project off the ground, so to speak." he chuckled at the little joke.

They did not.

"However the Z-1.."

"Z-1?" The young one said with a frown. "I was under the impression the Zeppelin was named the Damocles?"

"Well technically there both current terms. The full name is the Z-1 Damocles. But we had some accidents with the earlier balloons when we were making them and it some how became seen as unlucky to refer to the project by name before it got off the ground. At least in its presence."

"You would not happen to believe a spirit causing you trouble would you?" The older man said with a hard look.

"What! N-n-n-n-no!" he shook his head and took a breath. "It's a superstition nothing more or less!"

"Your a trusted man of the government it shall be ignored this time." Hakeen gulped for a moment silence reigned then the younger one spoke up again. "About the Damocles?"

"Oh yes!" Hakeen said quickly sure to send a memo out on the subject of the 'Z-1', the last thing they needed was a inquisitor dropping by. "The Z-1 is going to be far smaller and will likely need a lot less Hydrogen to get off the ground. How ever this one order will definitely allow us to make at least one Zeppelin even if we have a significant accident."

"That's why the Holy president is so concerned. The amount of Hydrogen your asking for would be enough to blow up the whole workshop ten times. It is well and seemly to die for the nation but not when you have better things to do." the older man said.

"I was talking about a leak, but I am fully aware of the dangers, you will recall, I kept saying, I rather use Helium." Hakeen leaned back on his chair gesturing to the painting on his walls with the rockets. "If we had them, I might be able to make those, but as it stands I barely trust a machine gun on a Hydrogen blimp."

"So shall I put down most of the Hydrogen as extra?" the young man said.

"Well not just extra. I am sure of my math as is my team. However we rather have a lot extra in case are figures are wildly off. It will likely be due to us forgetting to tab something. We know a lot more when the things final mass is known. The Goldbeater has only recently hit mass production. If you meet with Jalal please pass on my thanks."

"What about power?" the old man said. "Do you have any plans for that?" Hakeen huffed.

"No I don't. And that's the biggest kink in getting this thing as anything more then a balloon. The engines I have been promised are both under strength and over weigh. I understand the problems they have been having but frankly I don't give a damn. I am this close." he held his thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart. "To ditching the petrol drive and swap over to atomic."

Atomic's drives would be both lighter, due to the lack of fuel, and possible more powerful.

The problem was it was much more complex and dangerous. Not to mention that due to the how common oil was in the mid east atomic cars, due to there much higher pre-war expense, had never really caught on.

"We shall have words with the engineer's." the old man said his voice chilling. "His name." it was a order.

"Hameed." Hakeen said feeling like he was telling a murderer where his next victim was.

The both nodded memorizing the name.

"The Holy President also wish to pass along congratulation for the hot air balloons. They are already provoking themselves."

The balloon in question, the B-1-P Cherubim was a large hot air balloon with a hydrogen sack with in the main balloon Envelope which canceled out the basket weight. Leaving only the mass of the passengers, ballast, cargo, and the power plant, (a bicycle).

Able to life to life 400 pounds the balloons were a god sent to a post war army wanting air power though no actual attacks had been used with them and so far were relegated to messages and small cargoes.

"I am honored. May I know when I may begin large scale production?"

"Are you being tempted by greed here?" the old man said sharply. In the holy republic the seven deadly sins were deadly for another reason.

To be found guilty of one was a death sentence.

"N-n-n-n-n-n-no!" Hakeen said quickly "I just feel there is so much good I can do for the nation if I had the chance."

"I see." the young man said. "In any case the Holy President is still weighing your request. We do not want your success with ballooning to be widely known."

It was why he was in the ass end of former Afghanistan. No one to spy on them out here. Even with the occasional test flight.

"I understand, still I would like to begin soon."

"Noted." Silence stretched a little then the older man stood up.

"I believe we are done here." The younger one stood up as well.

"It has been a pleasure gentlemen." Hakeen lied.

"Indeed." With that the two men spun and marched out of the room. Just on the other side of the door, Isra waited for the meeting to end and as the two Janissary marched out, she bowed again to meet them.

She felt badly, the young Janissary's gaze burn a hole in her dress. It only lingered a second before he marched out the door and out of the line of sight.

"Isra." Hakeen said after waiting almost a hour hour for them to be out of ear shot. "A drink please." she came in already holding a prewar whiskey. "You think of everything." he said as he put out a couple shot glass. She filled them both up taking one her self.

Hakeen drunk his quick and put the glass down. "To another surprise inspection survived."

Three weeks, they were investigated for heresy.

The inquisitor found only one person guilty of treachery. A female secretary and she was placed in the custody of a a young Janissary.

Inspiration: _Inspirations: none really this was made from whole cloth. Let me say two things, First forgive the slow update my beta has been busy. Second: I understand I picked a, sensitive place to put the Boatmurder of Fallout. I shall say i mean no offense to any one and i recommend the MST3K Mantra "It's just a show, I should really just relax."_


	11. Addium Engalnd II

Burgh Castle was built on the original roman site.

Supposedly as a boarder fort to station troops, train men and doubling as a massive supply dump, in the area, not to say it did not do that you understand.

But most people believed the location was chosen as a bit of a historical in-joke given that the Pensic army being a post Armageddon roman one.

However the roman's wished though could have built anything as strong as the second Burgh Castle.

To start with the, the construction was more in line with 15th century star forts then any 400 BC construction.

The walls were sloping mounds of highly compacted dirt made by the stomping boots of countless marching soldiers. Then hexagonal bricks were just about cemented into place over the mound on both sides. Forming a smooth wall with an almost 75 degree slant that also invoked sloping armor in its defense. Bastion were placed every 50 Meters and they offered the only way up to the walls proper having stairs built along the inner facing.

A ditch dug in front of the walls made them even taller form the base to their top and made it hard for cannons to impact the walls given the large mound of dirt in front of the moat. Which they had filled with sharp stakes.

The only bridge over the moat were causeways in the dead center of each side of the some, 20 sided fort. Each causeway flanked with more bastions to enable them to rain canister shot anyone who tried to approach by the road.

The center of the castle was one large drill ground with tents dotting everywhere during the night, only to be packed up by recruits during the day and then they drill where they slept all day. The castle was large enough that a theoretical 16 legions could be held, though at that many they would have to rotate the training field. The major permanent structures were actually underground bunkers for both security, and so they had even more drill room.

The original roman fortifications were reinforced and rebuilt forming a secondary barrier within the perimeter. All this on top of the men inside, who were admittedly for the most part raw recruits and you had the proud son of almost over 2,000 years of technological innovation in the art of killing people by the thousands.

More than a simple drill ground it was a major link in a supply train, storing thousands of pounds of a supplies, food, taxes, powder, cannons, Gatling guns, cross bows, armor, armories, arrows, and everything a army might need and able to pass it up the train fast.

A really, really large army.

Burgh Castle was the main supply depot for Pensic within Norfolk mostly due to the fact that thanks to risen see levels, the estuary the castle once looked over was restored and steam ships were a common sight picking up supplies, delivering them and generally going all over the coast.

The only reason a set of tracks had not be laid to the fort was said estuary would mean any but the smallest gage of train would be impractical, sinking right into the ground. Not to mention steam ships were cheaper.

Burgh Castle was the first of its kind construed, a Petram et Terra castle. It had proven cheap, as the walls were literally brick and dirt, and easy to build as it was, just brick and dirt put together.

It was to this looming construct the survivors of Jensen approached. Not aware of all this all they knew was the walls were a comforting sight.

After a three day walk the small trope of elves and the small group of refugees that had grown significantly larger as they picked up more of them until they were finally in sight of the massive fortification.

Roughly six kilometers away they finally got noticed and received a Calvary escort, grumbles about where the hell the army had been before increased.

Two hours later they had entered the castle a small tent village had been formed. Seems they did have some prior knowledge about their arrival.

All the sounds of the massive army camp faded away replaced by the sounds of refugees. Crying children, hushing women the occasional legionary was there comforting his family or looking for them.

More than a few cook fires had been started and it was around one of these fires Gilbert sat alone as a small family tried to put their life back together across from him, as he tried to put his together.

"You there!" The school teacher looked up to see pair of legionaries' clank up, both were goblins and as was normal for their race there knuckle walked up to him. The one on the left who had first yelled spoke again. "General Omar wants to see you."

"A general why?" the goblin on the right snorted, a vile sound like some animal with a hole in its lung. Goblins tended to snort like that, Gilbert ignored it.

"Search me. Maybe he wants a word with you. He has been chatting it up with that knife eared chieftain so there is that." the other one rolled his eyes as the offensive elf term.

"Come on buddy lets get going." Gilbert stood up and followed the two legionaries as they lead him though the camp toward the main command bunker in the center of the base.

Dodging though the tent city of the army camp the three of them joined a small group of civilians out side the tunnel entrance.

"Right it think that's all of them." Then the legionary said to all of them. "Right then, you guys wait here." With that the two legionaries walked into the tunnel and disappeared from view.

A moment later an elf, Caedmon Gilbert recognized after a moment walked out. The first thing that Gilbert noticed was that he was wearing a cloak over the loose pants elves normally had.

The second thing, without even knowing Elf facial expressions he could tell that he was mad, and infuriated. His brow was hunched up, his ears pressing hard to the back of his head and he just radiated hostility.

He took a breath to calm himself then he spoke the assembled people.

"General Omar is going to charge you with cowardice and abandoning your settlement." Everyone started in surprise and more than one person started to complain violent to the eknife eared tree skipper.' Baring the typical, Ork, Troll hatred, racial problems did not really exist in post Armageddon England.

Elves though, due to the perception of them being uncivilized tribal's, which they were, the tribal part at any rate, meant they tended to get a lot of hate. They were the exception.

"He wants, and will arrest you for cowardice and due to the impending state of war with the Vikings, will try you in a military court and sentence you to jail."

"He can't do that!" one small minded man said with a growl. "No jury in the land would convict us. At some point you just run even if you're defending, it's a fact!"

"In a military court there is no jury, and while I agree you will likely be found innocent, will that help while you spend the rest of the next however long it takes to clear your name?" silence. This just could not be happening.

"There is a solution, though I convinced to that if anyone joined the army, he would drop the charges."

"You want us to join the army, in the middle of a viking invasion." Someone said.

"Fitting perhaps." He shrugged. "You are charged with cowardice and the only way out, is to join the army. Be that as it may I have may my ploy for you, take it or not. You must merely offer when promted." Caedmon shrugged and walked off.

Or rather almost pranced. A life time spent in thick forests with the goal of being absolute stealthy tended to do weird things to one gait.

After he was out of, human ear shot, the no one was quite sure the outer limit of elven hearing, the conversation started again.

"You think hes right?"

"Can't be. What does that knife eared roamer know about Pensic justice?"

"Hump, I well I do what he says." More than a few people turned to face an old man, who despite his age and gray hair was still strong and straight backed. "I've been in the legions, fought as an Auxiliary, been in a battle legion, that 'knife eared roamer'" he said with such disgust it was clear he was really insulting as he glared at the racists. "Know more about the Pensic code of military justice then you do about you underwear." A few sniggers but the gravity of the situation kept every from being too amused.

You joined the army for ten YEARS terms of service, with little pay (though since you did not really have expense as everything was provided form food to boots it really was not that bad, and after the ten years you got a hell of a pension.) and in the middle of a Viking invasion?

This would not end well. A door slammed, four Goblin Legionaries walked out of the command bunker. As a whole they came to attention, which for goblins meant they stood on two legs while leaning on their spears the base of their shields resting on the ground. It was only their biology could handle; they really were not built for standing on two legs for long.

A few moments latter a man who could only be general Omar walked out of the tunnel.

Normal legionary armor was simple steel colored; occasionally elite forces were allowed to blacken the steel of their weapons and armor. Only 21 of the almost 100 legions had earned that honor.

General, once Legate, Omar had come from such a formation. Rather than gleaming, his armor was black as tar. Other then the color it was the same as all other human armor, heavy segmented plates, dull leather straps, a sword as his hip and a cross bow over his shoulder.

He paused before the group of men, a frown on his face. "Explain to me what happened to your village?"

SHIFT

"How did I get roped into this?" Gilbert muttered as he tried to think.

Army camps were loud.

Black smiths were louder.

The loudest place in any Pensic base, was the rattling clicking of the auto mail. A black smith sound came in bursts like a thunder clap. An Auto mailer rattled and clicked like a heavy rain on a thin tin roof, driving thought from your head as the noise just filled the void.

The device itself was about the size of a wagon powered by a windmill that jutted high into the air, in the bunker though all that could be seen of it was a whirling drive shaft that lead to the machine. The shaft linked to a pair of gears that quickly turned some of the rotational energy into a clasping motion made by two pincers that actually bent the wire. The other ¾ of the energy was transfer to a cylinder that the wire was bent on. Every time the wire was clicked into place, the cylinder rotated and a new wire link was formed in its new place.

The end results were massive sheets of chain mail that had to be hand cut into shape.

If Gilbert was honest with himself though, to answer his earlier self imposed question, was that he followed the leader.

In this case the old Legionnaire.

Omar questioned, or rather strip mined for any scrap of information he could possible get about the raid. How many were there? What kind of weapons did they have? Any other saviors? Slaves?

Mid way though his harsh questioning the man, Michal Cross, spoke up offering his service to the legion, and Gilbert had been the last of ten men to take him up the offer.

Caedmon had been right. Singling those who had joined out, he had arrested the rest. They had been led off at spear point.

Now Tent IX of Norfolk 59th battle legion were getting loaded with there proper armor.

Gilbert was shocked out of his inner monolog when a chain mail Hauberk was tossed into his arms.

It was basically a shirt with chain mail arms along with pants for the legs.

"Right then!" the armorer yelled at him over the endless rattle of the automailer "Put that on and then get your plate on! It's the next room over!" Gilbert nodded and quickly left the nose of the room to get in the plate mail that made the men of Pensic the most feared force in England.

SHIFT

Armor was really, really heavy. Even with out the shield, sword and cross bow, the armor weighed a friggen ton!

Gilbert rolled his shoulder as he tried to ease the weight. No good, still there.

The ten men stood out side the room of the armory waiting for, some one. All they knew was that the chief armorer had told them to wait for was named Centurion Chevron Gorden.

"So what do you think this Centurions like?" a man asked nervously.

"We will find out now." Michal. Gilbert spared another uncharitable thought for Michal. Despite his age he did not seem to notice the metallic mass of his armor. "Here he comes." Indeed, a man was approaching.

Covered in the thick plates of a Lorica segmentata, a crest of blue and green, the colors of Norfolk, atop his helmet he stood forward like he was waiting for a fight to break out at any moment.

He his left eye was milky white and a scar ran from his brow, across it to his chin.

Stomping up he glared at the ten new recruits. "Right then. Your the last battle tent?" he glared some more. "God fucken damn. You guys are worse then pathetic." he stopped glaring when he reached Michal. "You been in the legions before?"

"Bedfordshire 41st Battle legion, the Auxiliary. Was shifted to the battle legion after we took some losses due to some elven raiders."

"Damn, you old enough to be my Centurion Chevron." He commented before he got to his planned speech.

"You ten men are the newest recruits in the Pensic army. I'll skip the speech about the glory of this army and get to the nitty grity. The drill will be hard, the marches long, the food will actually be good. Welcome to the army." he dropped his pack. "This is your tent. Five men to the tent sleep in shifts. Seeing as how you lot have a veteran in the ranks hes your Sargent. " Michal nodded. "And quite frankly I am glad I don't have to peel a legionary who knew what the heck they were doing to help you jokers. Pick the tent up." it was a order. A couple of guys did just that. "Follow." another order they did.

Dodging around drilling soldiers they made there way to the tent part.

Before they got there the air erupted with the bellow of bag pipes, louder over the drilling men.

The small group of new recruits, and more then a few drilling legionaries, at least before Centurions yelled discipline back into them.

"What's going on?" Gilbert asked. Centurion Chevron Gorden.

"Interesting. Omar's not messing around." He said to him self then to them.

"A whole legion being moved out. That almost 1,500 men counting Auxiliary. Must be heading to the viking raided town."

"ya, that was are town." some one said. His eyes roamed for a dust cloud. Only to not find it. The whole training ground was covered in grass to keep the dust of almost eight thousand men of eight legions from being kicked up.

"You the fucken cowards who left your town?" he said sharply glaring at all of them.

"To be frankly I do believe the militia captain ordered a evacuation."

"Does not matter really. Your in the army and you will be turned into men." he leaned close to Gilberts face. "Or mince meat."

He spun on his heel and stomped off.

Gilbert turned to face the music, trying to see past the marching men, tents, the sound of cross bows, cannons, animals, the sound of a massive army camp.

Some where past that over a thousand men marched to battle.

And it did not comfort him.

* * *

><p><em>Inspiration: First off forgive my grammar by beta moving and busy, Second there a couple follow up that are going to fallow this. Let me know what you guys think? (PS after this I'm going to go to Poland! in the story mind you, I wish <strong>I<strong> could go to poland)_


	12. Addium Engalnd III

Three days of marching.

Two nights of rest

A thousand pairs of feet raising and falling.

A Legion was on the march

Auxiliary ranged far head scouting and screening.

The rhythmic pounding of feet, the jingle of heavy armor, quivers filled with bolts, and the bellowing song of bag pipes spreading a marching tune loud over the 9 Centurias of a marching legion.

The tune was a modified old song, the tune reset for marching. The battle of Harlaw.

"An' Forbes tae his brither did say, "Noo brither, can't ye see

They've beaten us back on ilka side and we'll be forced tae flee" The pipers toned out loudly over the whole legion, a Legion marched on its stomach, and it's lung were were its piper.

At once the Legion sung back the chorus.

"Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay "

The next line shouted forcefully over the noise of the legion marching. "Oh na, na, my brither bold, this thing will nivver be

Ye'll tak yer guid sword in yer haun', ye'll gang in wi' me"

The chorus came back.

"Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay "

The saying from before the war said that 12 Scots plus a bagpipe equals a rebellion.

1,000 men of Pensic post war with five pipers to the Centuria was said to be a force of nature and when they marched to war, everyone knew they were coming. Wither on march in peace or war they were loud and everyone knew they were coming.

It was said during the unification of England the slavers had fled merely due to the sound of the pipers.

Centuria five was in the front, in the center rank leading the march of the Suffolk 13th Legion was it Legate, Ashley Dementia, one of the very few women able to hold up to the Legions incredible physical fitness requirements, requirements that would not be lowered for the fairer sex.

A horn blew close by. Not even pipers could block out the noise of an air horn. Three sharp blasts.

The Legate turned to the drummer who so far had been silent in the marching tune.

"Call for battle silence." there was a nod and the drummer just went to work with a few sharp notes that was soon carried by the drummers in each Centuria. The marching music stopped and the only sounds left were a thousand marching men.

The road had a opened from a oppressively thick forest to a large meadow, ahead of them by almost a kilometer was a forest. The clearing was then flanked to either side by thick woods that would keep cavalry from their flanks. This open plain would soon be a battle field.

"Shift to battle line: type A." She order the musicians. This time the pipes and drums work together passing the message down the line. Again it was picked up by the musicians of each Centuria.

To the new song the leading Centuria turned and marched left followed by the rest of the long pillar of men followed.

The 5th Centuria down the line, or rather the first Centuria, as that was its proper number headed by the Centurion Chevron turned right instead.

The twin lines were now facing opposite each other, one going left the other right, then when Centuria 8 and 4, the last one in each line, were lined up there musicians belted out a tune, and the legionaries stopped marching, and turned to face the directional they had been previously facing.

For a moment silence spread as the Legion waited for new orders, the only sound the rattle of wheels as Gatling guns were rolled into place so they were evenly spaced down the line.

Ashley waited for another single from her scouts. She got it.

A long blast echoed followed by the faint sight of men leaving the distant forest.

The blast meant one thing, enemy contact. Two more blasts echoed, long and loud.

Tribal forces.

They would fight in hard blocks of men to counter melee forces.

"Legion!" Ashley yelled from the far left post. "At half speed: march! The drummers and pipers took up her order and the legion began. Starting at her wing it quickly staggered up the line the men moving at full speed until they were lined up with their fellows.

He legion moved forward, and from the forest there foe rose to meet them on this winter day.

Vikings.

Clenching swords and shield and other melee weapons. Looming from the woods in no real order it was not a raiding force. But an army.

But it was a Viking army, which was to say that to any man in Pensic it looked like a mob. Where were the ranks? The pipers? The music core? Command? For that matter even a pre war man would say it looked like a mob. But it was a large one.

Though Ashleys telescope she could see them, looming out of the woods, spilling out before them. This was not a raid this was a army.

Well in a few moments it would be nothing.

They were outnumbered by a fair bit, she could tell that, but again, soon they would not be outnumbered at all.

"Legion Halt:" the legion stopped, commanded by the drums that made a Pensic army one fourth war, and three fourth ballet.

"Load cross bows." the MK19 cross bow the Legions now used had an integrated Cranequin unlike earlier models that had separate cranks

It took less than a minute to reload the weapon, faster than a musket, and they had added perks.

Still staring though her telescope Ashley guessed the range from hard experience. "Set range to maximum: Hold fire." the sharp sequence of notes staggered down the line. She turned to Centurion of the 5th Centuria beside her.

"You have command I'll head to the middle Centuria. That's an order." the last commented was directed to the drummer core that soon belted the order.

With that the Legate began almost leisurely stroll to the center of the formation as if saying to the enemy you so do not concern me the leader of this army will walk to her place in the battle line.

The Legion was silent as she marched, cross bows were held upright, shields slung on backs, save those in the front pair of ranks, they held there shields to block incoming bullets.

Each wooden ply wood shield was coated with copper on both the front and back side, then it was covered in gold linen with a red center around the iron boss. Outside of that basic color alignment and that fact each shield had a 13 in roman numerals on it, each Centuria had a unique pattern to help each man find a his Centuria if they got scattered or went to a loose formation.

As she walked one of the Gatling guns crossed into her field of view.

Sitting in the center of every other Centuria each multi barreled weapon was why Pensic did not truly fear cavalry attacks and only used there own for scouting. Horses could not hide from the bullets like men could

Though the gunners did not wear armor, shields, cross bows or pistols, they had two thing to protect themselves with.

Massive boxes of bullets and a gun to shoot them by the ton.

The vikings were approaching. She paused on her march and did some looked though her telescope again.

At the second Centuria down she turned to the drummer. "On command: Loose shafts." the drums thrummed the command, men tensed.

"Independent centurion command: Fire." the command rang out on a drum, a long rolling rat a tat, followed by the shouts of nine Centurion commanding.

A thousand cross bows thwacked, was a sound rarely heard before the war, and can not proper be described.

Well greased thwacks, the sound of a heavy wind, 1,000 bolts disappeared into the sky.

Among the vikings the bolts landed, falling from the sky like a hail storm of death, they fell randomly, inaccurately, but enough for suppressive fire.

There were two schools of thought on cross bow fire, one said fire as soon as they got into max range to pick as many off as you could with the longer range fire. The other said hold till you could fire at you optimum engagement range.

Ashley held to the first school of thought.

She kept moving, the vikings were getting closer, she slightly sped up till she was in the center of the formations Centuria.

They were close she could see them fairly clearly with out a scope. Warriors, all big, hairy, well muscled armed with swords, shields, axes, spears, some had mail, most did not , some had helmets, others did not.

They were like a tide coming forward, eager for blood, even as the hail of cross bow bolts intensified they suddenly broken into a charge, too far, they would be tired if they reached them.

"On command!" She had to shout over the cross bow and savages screams. "Gatling guns free!" The pipers blared over the roar of battle, they were loud and able to be heard to those who were trained, and all Centurions were trained and most Legionaries if experienced enough could pick up the faint sounds.

It was carried by each musician staggered down the line, so even if those on the wings could not hear it, those closer to the center could, and they would play it to those on the wings.

"Gun's free!" at the command the Gatling guns spat to life.

Thundering,cracking, the guns sprayed smoke, fire, and most importantly, lead into the oncoming vikings.

Before the Vikings had fallen, rapidly before the storm of cross bow bolts.

But before the hurricane of lead they fell like ice caving from a glacier. Before they ran now they were slowed to a crawl.

Ashley had not even bothered to fire her cross bow, even if everyone around her was. The Gatling almost made them unnecessary.

Almost. Something still had to cover them.

A flash of green played at the edge of her vision.

Her head pivoted left.

Over the din of the Gatling gun the flare gun was the best communication tool.

With the battle joined the Auxiliary had fallen back to the wings and watched over the flanks of the force.

As she watched two more flare shot sky ward. Green for look at me.

One blue for cavalry, and a second blue for,,

Ashley Drew a blank for a moment. Then it hit her.

But Chariots? They were obsolete in roman times. Much less in this new, backwards Schizo age. Still it was a threat.

She thought the formation over.

From left to right the Centuria were arrayed Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Four, Three, Two then one. Centuria nine were the Gatling gun crews.

She was in the eight Centuria in the center. Her plotting down she looked at the Vikings. They were falling back from the hammering of gun fire and cross bow bolts.

She spoke to the pipers beside her who stood just behind the first rank of shields.

"Centuria Five, Seven, four and one, are ordered to perform a reverse double line." The piper nodded, took a deep breath and played at the top of his lungs.

With bellows for lungs the order was played out, soon the Centuria to each side heard it and played the command as well, each piper adding to the volume.

The designated Centurias soon spun on their heel and marched backward.

A reverse double line meant they marched backward about 15 meters, which was the standard distance for a double line, only they face backward from the forward facing group.

When all four Centuria were moving the second order was given.

"All Centuria: Spread the line by two." Which meant the Centuria would spread their formation from a tight block to a formation wide enough to fill two standard Centuria spaces in a standard line.

She then held her breath.

Pensic was good, but formation adjustments were tricky things and for a good couple three or four minutes they were highly vulnerable. That said the enemy in front of them had Gatling guns to work though before they crashed into the scattered formation.

Frankly they were still running for cover back in the woods so the legion would be fine.

After a few frantic minutes filled with shouting of each Legion Centurions and each Centuria three non commissioned officer, Sergeant Chevrons the legion was ready.

Ashley let her breath out, thought a second then give another order to the piper behind them. "Gatling gun one, three and five." Which, were the guns on the far left, far right and middle, "Form reverse double line under Centurion Chevron command." this was not a standard order.

But in this context, which they understood and this legion was drill for, the guns were quickly wheeled back to join the second line in a reverse formation.

Now when those Chariots tried to flank behind them, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang and bang.

"Front row: advance at half pace." Four Centuria began to advance, the guns rolling forward to keep pace, while the rest covered them.

By now most of the Vikings had gone into the woods, which was a problem. Keeping the tight formation in the woods would be a problem.

Again she lamented that they could not burn them at this time of year and firing cross bow bolts into that mess of underbrush would be a waste of bolts and time.

A string of musical notes from the second line drew her attention for a half second. The expected chariots had arrived flanking around them. She ignored it, she only had to deal with the ones in front of her.

She half turned and spoke to the band behind her.

"Sling crossbows, draw shields and swords." The sharp beats rang out.

Her half of the whole legion did just that. bending over as shields were unslung from shoulder positions, crossbow being in place then a thousand swords being drawn.

Finaly Ashley drew her blade.

81 CM of blacked steel with silver inlayed around the hilt and cross guard, along with a black stained wooden and leather grip, finished the ceremonial blade. All of which did not affect its killing ability.

The musician readied to fall back from the front, she gave the last order.

"Advance at half pace." The band took it up and her half of the legion rolled forward.

Marching over the dead from the Gatling guns, the dead from cross bow fire, the expertly trained legionaries stepping over the fallen with ease.

The ground was flattened under there constant foot beats as they range forward, pipers keeping a half beat marching tune. Gattling guns rolled forward, the legion approached the woods.

The jingle of gear, the thrum of pipers, the thrump of feet on grass flattening it, the shouts of men giving orders. All of it scared it self on Ashley brain.

Moments before hell opened it gates.

A new sound joined the cacophony. A long line of stuttering cracks, the bomping blasts.

Her mind broke in horror as the implications. They were bunched up to fight a pure melee force, to support and to aid each other in close quarters.

Allowing them to be absolutely slaughtered by machine gun and mortar fire!

Tracers leap form concealed positions to lance into the tightly packed formation.

The heavy shields, really just at the edge of a humans ability to use, did not help against heavy machine gun fire from this close.

At this distance the copper, wood and copper Scutum was worthless, at longer ranges, with smaller calibers, they really were a help.

But no amount of shield could help you when mortars bombs were falling on top of your head.

The whistle was all that preempted there impact, and when they imparted, shrapnel, fire, and body's were sent flying.

The once well order line just about shattered in confusion, some men going back, some forward, and some dropping there shield and futility firing pistols trying to some kill.

The Gatling put up a gallant defense, firing back at the source of the tracers, they died fairly fast the crew almost sawed in half by the heavy, KPV-14.5 14.5x115 mm Russian bullets.

Ducking instinctively, Ashley felt the rounds scythe over head, and heard the cry's as men fell. "Fall back!" She commanded. "Full speed!". Bellowing piper, drum the whole musical corps struggled to maintain order and proper command.

But the order to fall back was welcome and her half of the legion did just that, fall back trying to keep good order, trying to keep shields up, as they got farther away they shields helped more, people began surviving as the bullet chewed though the shields and were saved by there armor under it.

Nothing stopped the mortars though and the legion was behind demolished.

Marching back ward, lighter rifle bullets impacted her shield leaving massive dents on the other side. For one glorious moment Ashley thought they would make it.

Then from behind them, machine guns spat to life. "Not chariots." she hissed. "Tachanka's." Horse drawn machine guns.

It was a perfect cross fire, they could not go forward, or back. While mortar bombs rained from over head.

Then behind her, a sharp stucco beat of drums froze her blood. It was followed by the roar of men who would not die in vain.

The Centurion chevron had declared a charge rather than die in place.

Quickly she pivoted to her command crew, over the noise of battle she gave her last order. "About face: Charge!"

Pivoting on their feet 400 men of Pensic turned and charged forward into the chattering death of machine gun fire, the round piercing men, they killed nothing and not even the great armor that the army prided it on, there shields worthless discipline only good for driving them forward into the storm of lead.

At first they ran, then hunched, then they crawled forward, each step forward near impossible in the open terrain, perfect for melee battles, horrific for modern ones.

After hours, the gun fire finally stopped, bombs stopped falling and a eerie calm settled on the field. Some solider half stood up, only to get sliced down by machine gun fire.

A voice from behind them spoke up though a mega phone.

"You have one chance men of Pensic I will take the surrender of you commanding officer and you shall be spared."

Ashley, clenching a bullet wound in her leg shouted the only answer possible. "A Pensic Legion has never surrendered before and the Suffolk 13th WILL not be the ones to break that proud tradition!" a lone piper, the last of his music core flared his instrument into a impromptu serenade of the Pensice nation anthem, or rather the British national anthem as it was the same anthem.

"Very well, you made your choice. Unleash the flamethrowers."

"That what?" someone shouted. Ashley almost stood up from her position as five men with massive flamethrower tanks on their back began to march out of the woods.

"Good god." She muttered as the flame throwers began to spray molten fuel oil almost 18 meaters in glittering, burning arcs.

The crys of pain began as men were roasted in their armor like sausages.

She closed her eyes as the reek of burning fuel and cooking fat reached her nose.

SHIFT

That she came to was more surprising to her, then her parents had been when she told them she wanted to join the army. She was tied up, arms pinned behind her back by thick coarse rope. Coughing she pushed herself upright.

"Legate." She tilted her head slightly to the direction of the voice only to see a Gremlin dressed in auxiliary colors. Though not tide up he had a spear wound in his side and a lack of weapons on his person.

"Good you are awake." Pivoting she spun to face a large blond haired man with a thick beard, Windus.

"I am in need of a messager." Quickly Ashley spun her head back and forth. She was in the middle of a army camp, surrounded by hairy, Vikings. It was night the only illumination came from camp fires and the half moon.

"Let me guess, your fat, ugly, your wife left you for impotence, and you over compensate with the size of your gun?" she was quite pleased with the snickers that went around the circle.

"Cute." Windus said stomping over and griping her neck lifting her with his right arm. A sort of hiss to his left was muffled as the Gremlin was held down.

"I have a message I want you to deliver it start like this, We won't stop till this land is ares, and ends like this." he squeezed sharply constricting her throat make her breaths come in short gasps

He dropped her after a moment.

"do you understand?"

Gasping she glared up at him. "Crystal."

"Good. release them." he said turning away. A voice spoke up.

"This women is a Legate you would give them back a highly valuable commander?" smiling before he turned around he answered the clearly not rehearsed question.

"of course Not. Blind her, perforate then her ears."

he turned and walked away, a cry behind him not even distracting him.

He had a war to prepare.


	13. Addium Engalnd IV Pensic poltics

Pensic Political structure.

The kingdom of Pensic is a misnomer. Though there is a 'kingdom of Pensic' the kingdom every one things about with regard to rule of England is really the 'Kingdom of Pensic military alliance' (KPMA) which in truth is more of a federation.

There are five groups that make up KPMA, from north to south, the kingdom of Pensic (KOP) proper, the Free, sometimes called Independent, Territories, Troll country, England, though most call it the London Republic and various elven clans and tribal's groups.

Kingdom of Pensic: at once, the most important, and lest important member of the alliance. Technically speaking it is their army the make the entirety of the Penisc Legions though they tend to have more local loyalties then any ties to the far off Kingdom of Pensic.

Basically controlling all of pre war Scotland Pensic has one of the lowest populations of all the major kingdoms in the Alliance.

The capital of Pensic, is the city OF Pensic settled in a valley. It sheltered location was the reason they came from the war and resulting implosion of society so well. At the time the valley was home to a reenacting group hence the odd mash up of Pensic military legions.

In time they began to explore and started to fight back, successfully with the slavers and raiders infesting Scot land at the time. As they won battles and drove them back commutes and former slaves joined Pensic and the kingdom was founded.  
>Having survived the end of the world unscathed Pensic has a very firm pre war mind set; make it the odd one out in the post world.<br>Though the king of Pensic is the one referenced in the military codex he in truth tends to rubber stamp general appointment.  
>The government is formed of a king who signs legislation into law and a single house of parliament where each town (or group of towns if small enough) votes a person in for every 500 people in the town.<p>

Free Territories: Defined as stretching from the prewar County of Northumberland down to the Oxfordshire (excluding Wales) the Free Territories are not a single territory but are for the most part a group of city states and a few nations with welled defined boarders. The three most important of these are Derbyford the Kingdom of Lance, and the Mercs.

Kingdom of the Lance (KOL): name after the first king, Lance Alban. Only 40 years before the coming of Pensic the kingdom was formed by an aggressive military campaign by a group of raiders, a campaign only stopped by a defense mounted by the Mercs. Though originally a raider army Lance goal was to build a real nation rather than a mad house that would fall apart when he died, though he was constantly hamstringed by the chaotic nature of most of the raiders that made up his army.

The hard life caught up with him and he died at the age of 37 leaving his young daughter Caroline, fighting uphill with a crack addiction that she inherited from her mother. The Kingdom was the verge of collapse and the Merc were prepareing to counter attack the civil warring nation, though the word nation was always a stretch.

It was to this situation that the first Pensic scout legion arrived. Unaware of the back story the Legion offered to assist the imploding nation, and were almost shocked by how readily it was accepted.  
>Days later the Mercs invaded and Pensic was honor bound to assist.<br>During the first week of fighting the Kingdom finally imploded into a bunch of warring tribes. That being the goal of the Mercs they fell back behind their defensive walls and watched.  
>The legion sent to counter attack instead end up on police duty and end up just about destroying the pervious 'army' of the kingdom entirely. After raising a 'police' legion the kingdom is said to be almost as stable as Pensic it self.<br>The kingdom was the first group to full adopt Pensic military forces and as its own and the kingdom despite it roots  
>Politically relations with the kingdom are highly strained with just about every other group in Pensic due to the way queen Caroline almost tricked Pensic into supporting them but given the end result ended with the death of the raider army's and a kingdom under the rule of law there is a degree of acceptance of the result.<br>Composed of the prewar counties of Cumbria, Northumberland, Tyne and Wear and Durham the kingdom has a shaky histroy but has managed to make it self a respectable nation. And if they ever slip back, which has been threatened a few times when Raider groups reemerge, the Mercs are only south.  
>Though considered, and they try to project a well to do image the people of the Kingdom of Lance are aggressive and quarrelsome, traits long years of raider occupation had passed into the people and the Nation has the highest number of organized bandits and raiders, meaning that comparable they tend to have the most well experienced men, even if they are a bit wild by Pensic standard.<p>

Mercs: short for Mercenary the mercs capital is based in north Yorkshire, the former Catterick Garrison.

Original merely a large mercenary group hired by the people of a couple towns to protect them. They eventually took up more and more governmental roles. They were in fact, if not officially in law, the government of there area.  
>When Pensic intervened in the Kingdom of Lance just north of them they were unsure what to do. When they found the area stabilizing under a non raider supported government it was decided to take this as a economic opportunity, while they kept watch from there trenches.<p>

Unlike most nations the Merc have extensive access to pre war weapons, but lack reloading ability and always have critical powder shortages. They promptly began trading pensic for extensive reserves of black power. Only to find modern guns gummed up to worthlessness when firing black powder.

A joint Pensic, Merc battle against a force of raiding Tribals demonstrated this immensely, while the Merc spent half the battle cleaning there guns the Rapid hail of Cross bow and Gattling gun fire of the Pensic Legions shattered the center enough for a charge to break the whole army.

Seeing little choice they joined the Alliance in return for training and cross bows Pensic would get drill in loose, squad based combat that would come in handy when fighting England.

The leader of the mercs is General Christopher. Succession is a strict military afar going from the second of command in the event the first in command dies. The General has full command over his nation and they are a technical dictatorship that works due in part to the Pensic Overshadowing it. In the event the people needed to truly rebel from tyranny they would find the Legions standing beside them.

Derbyford composed of most of the former governments of Derbyshire and Staffordshire weathered the end time fairly well. Unlike in most places the police system did not immediately fall apart and they are the second longest running Democracy after the London Republic.  
>They were the last group to joining the Alliance in 2128 They did so as they felt compiled to join after having two of the major power blocks in the area do just that they felt they had to or risk being over run by the growing power to the north.<br>Troll country: Standing out from the other nations Troll Country is different form the other nations in a number of ways.

First: while the other kingdoms and nations are ruled by humans, Troll Country is ruled by Trolls in a Feudal federation of princes and chiefs rules by a combination of ability in battle and blood.  
>Second: the Humans in the kingdom themselves. Though most of England are generally, ethnically,Anglo Saxon with smattering of other races. Troll country is formed almost completely of Africans, called, (despite the previous use of the word to refure only to Southern Africa descended from Dutch) Afrikaners. Those from Africa.<p>

It is believed that unlike Goblins and Gremlins who evolved from mutated Zoo animals the trolls and the humans with them, migrated up from African, pressed by lack of food and human forces, went though Europe worked they way across the Channel some via the Channel tunnel, some definitely by boat.

What is not questioned is what happened when they got to England. They were hurryed and pushed by England forcing them further north until they settled in Wales displacing raider groups and tribes, which are believed to have caused some of the problems with raiders further north as they were forced to migrate up.

They had 25 years of peace before Pensic arrived. Restoring Rail lines as they went Pensic was almost shocked by the Trolls, until very recent days Trolls tended to stay in Wales leaving only the rumors to spread of there existence.

The trolls joined the Alliance due to the England Pensic war and seeking to both pay them back for the past and to gain a ally against future aggression.  
>In truth this has not worked as well as they have hoped. After England was Annexed into Pensic Legions have been deployed to stop the Trolls from invading themselves and a uneasy peace has been forced between them.<br>England: Despite London been hit with a direct atomic blast England manged to survive to a limited extend only able to keep order in the south part of England. The bombs that hit them turned most of the population of southern England into ork may have had something to do with this as well given that normally radiated food was not only not a problem, it actually made it taste better to them.

Though they survived as a democracy England was hardened by the atomic blasts like a sword in a forge. A once generous people driven bitter.  
>It why when the Trolls came they were driven north. And what ultimately led to England defeat in arms.<br>As Pensic followed the rail lines south, bringing a dead nation back to life the people of England were suddenly fearful, what would happen when the 'barbarians' got to England?  
>Fearful they preemptively struck back attacking a few trade groups, and most importantly of all a diplomatic team.<br>For there trouble three legions with artillery came baring down on them supported by a force of tools.

For the first time in over 1,000 years London was subject to cannon bombardment from a fellow Englishmen.

Though the siege of London is seen as the high point of the campaign victory was achieved not by that battle, but by destroying any all source of food they could find and subjecting them to a navel blockade to keep fishing boats in shore.  
>With out supply's England was forced to yield or starve, out maneuvered and out numbered.<br>Though under restrictions for there own army people still join the Pensic army.

Tribal's: Tribal's are people who have fallen back on what is at its root, a pre-roman ways of living. Traveling in small groups they are sometimes a threat, sometime not depending on there beliefs. Elf tribal's are a interesting case though.

Originally from Ireland the Elven Tribals were driven out by a newly forming kingdom, New Ireland. Most left rather then be subjected losing there freedom. Pensic, already used to dealing with many races with the Goblins, Gremlins and orks.  
>New Ireland often lunches raids against the west coast of England, though they claim this are tribes and not natives, and no one one to get back into the mess of a England control Ireland enough to go and stop them once and for all.<br>That and it easier to use Gatling guns to hold a line then it is to lunch ships to stop at the source.

Each nation has there own army which can, or can not be based on the national Pensic army.

The single most divergent nation are the Trolls who instead favor a line of rifle musketeers more in line with the 18th century then the roman model of Pensic proper. These second teir forces are, depending on location, held higher then the Pensic army or lower though generally they are as heavily armed or well trained. Some form Axillary scouts for the battle legions in joint operations.

Also most secondary army's lack heavy weapons due to most of the foundry's for the big guns being Pensic controlled and highly expensive. The exception are the Mercs who pioneered the art of cheap, effective rocket artillery. Though they tend to a glut of Gatling guns due to there more static nature.

The relation between the nations generally is good, though this tends to the apathetic with the more distant nations. This has decreased as England move out of the dark age telegraphs are common as are locomotives.

This though has a unwelcome side effect. To others, England is a plump target food, water, luxury thing not seen since before the war and in recent years raiders from Ireland have attacked the west coast, Vikings the east, and at lest once, French from the south.

Even as the peace has settled there is a vocal minority who feel the only way to truly have peace, is to conquer every one who has attacked them, or might attack them.

All that is clear is that as long as those wanting what Pensic have come to take it, the Legions will be waiting.

* * *

><p><em>Inspiration: that's it for England now Poland!<em>


End file.
